


one more time with feeling

by miss_tatiana



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Recovery, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, and admits he was being used, and i think he's so interesting and i just, and over time he heals with curts help, basically it's an au where owen lets curt talk him down during the stair scene, like i just, love owen a Lot, owen lives, want him to be better, warning- this is Really self serving but :) enjoy anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16564862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_tatiana/pseuds/miss_tatiana
Summary: “What are you going to do, Curt? Kill me?” Owen was laughing at him.Curt didn’t know what he was going to do. He thought he’d killed Owen for the past four years and it ripped him apart. He wasn’t sure what actually killing him would mean, if it would change anything. Everything he knew had been tossed upside down in the past week, and in that time he’d traveled halfway across the world after Owen with no plan. There wasn’t a protocol for this. He didn’t know what to follow.-Curt rescues Owen from Chimera, and has to deal with the fallout of what they've made of his old partner.





	1. time zero

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm finally at a point with this story, after nine months, where i'm comfortable leaving it where it is and not editing further. so here's the spies story that i kept posting about but never posted :)   
> updates mondays and fridays.

“What are you going to do, Curt? Kill me?” Owen was laughing at him. 

Curt didn’t know what he was going to do. He thought he’d killed Owen for the past four years and it ripped him apart. He wasn’t sure what actually killing him would mean, if it would change anything. Everything he knew had been tossed upside down in the past week, and in that time he’d traveled halfway across the world after Owen with no plan. There wasn’t a protocol for this. He didn’t know what to follow. 

“Oh, please kill me,” Owen continued. “You’ve already done it once, it seems to be the ending we keep coming back to.”

“This isn’t you,” he tried. 

“You don’t know me!” Owen sounded panicked. “You don’t know! You never did, even before you let me fall. Even before you did that it was all about you.” 

“Owen, what the hell happened to you?” Curt asked. Because it really hit him then that something had changed Owen. He was too different. It was like every insecurity and neurosis that he used to manage had gotten out of control and taken him over. He was messy. He never used to be messy. Now his hair was falling in his face, he’d let Curt follow him without trying to conceal his route, and he looked tired. The old Owen never would have let himself look tired. 

Owen looked down the stairs at him. “Well, let’s see. Oh, might have been the fourteen meter fall, which you did nothing to stop.” He was nearly yelling. “Might have been that the building fucking exploded, Curt.” 

“You can bounce back from pain, you always could,” Curt said, hoping he didn’t sound too ignorant. He knew that the pain Owen must have faced was unsurvivable. Almost. But he also knew that Owen wasn’t a quitter. 

“You don’t know what pain is,” Owen spat. He cocked his gun. “You get shot. You lose people. That’s nothing.”

“What did Chimera offer you? Just- tell me that. Please.” Curt had to know. He couldn’t not know. Because whatever it was, it was worth more than him. 

Owen seemed caught off guard by the question. That was another difference- he never used to be caught off guard. “They saved my life. I was never going to get out of that building alive on my own. I broke half the bones in my body.”

At some point after they got to the stairs, Curt had started crying, and he was just realizing it now. “If they got you out you could have come back,” he said. His pistol was hanging in his hand, at his side, and the thought of using it hadn’t crossed his mind. “Why didn’t you come back?”

“Because you fucking killed me, Curt!” Owen yelled, and his voice broke just out of exertion. He jabbed his gun against Curt’s forehead. “You killed me!”

Curt winced, closed his eyes. The barrel of the gun was cold against his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry now because you don’t want to die,” Owen said. 

“That’s not true.” Curt shook his head, feeling the gun shift. “That’s not true, I’ve been- I’ve been sorry for years.”

“You’re telling me that because you think I won’t kill you!” Owen’s voice was even unsteady, nothing like the charming, lilting thing it used to be. He grabbed the watch on Curt’s wrist and pulled it off, dropping it on the stairs at their feet. 

Curt looked down on it. That was his comm, his connection to Barb and Tatiana. He was going to die here, on these steps. “Owen, please-”

“Shut up,” Owen said. He took the gun from Curt’s head, put it to his shoulder, and fired. “Shut up, Curt.”

Curt didn’t realize he was falling until his knees collided with the step above him, and then the pain hit him. His vision blurred. He’d had worse. He vaguely saw Owen take off his own comm, drop it next to the watch, and shoot them both. He couldn’t make a connection as to why. He felt his blood dripping out from between his fingers as he held onto the wound, and he refused to look down at it. “What’s going on?”

“They think I just killed you,” Owen said, bending over and finding Curt’s gun where he’d dropped it on the stairs and pushing it back into Curt’s hand. “Hurry up, shoot me.” 

“What?” Curt couldn’t connect the dots, and not just because of the wound in his shoulder. Owen wasn’t making sense, and so much had happened over the past week that he couldn’t begin to comprehend this new turn. 

“Are you going to kill me or not?”

“Owen- I can’t- what?” Curt looked down at the gun in his hand. He felt sick. “Please, just- tell me what’s happening. Tell me what happened.”

“They took me from the building before it blew up but they didn’t save me.” Hatred was thick on Owen’s tongue. “They brought me to some island. Locked me up. Things healed wrong, they- they let me heal wrong. Then they broke it all again. And it healed wrong again. And they broke it again.”

Curt shook his head. He was nauseous. 

Owen sat down on the stairs, getting on Curt’s level. “They did other things as well, they were creative, but they never-” He closed his hand into a fist, like he was reaching for something he couldn’t get. “They never killed me. They never let me die. So eventually I gave up. I started doing their dirty work.”

“This is on me,” Curt said quietly, mouth feeling like it was full of cotton, one half of his shirt warm and wet with blood. 

“I can’t deny that,” replied Owen. “But I forgave you after the first couple of weeks, because I couldn’t make it through a day without thinking you’d show up and get me out. I fucking- can you believe it? That was what I held onto?” He shook his head. “And then after a couple of years I started hating you again because I realized you weren’t coming. You didn’t come.” He shoved Curt. 

Curt let himself fall against the railing of the stairs. A sharp jolt of pain jumped through his torso, coming from the wound in his shoulder. “I’m here now,” he said. “If I had known- I thought- but I’m here now.” 

“Right. So just get it over with.” Owen tapped the gun in Curt’s hands. “Shoot me. Isn’t that what you’ve been following me around to do?”

Curt looked down at the gun, felt disgusted. With it, with himself. With everything. He dropped it through the railing and heard it clatter to the ground two storeys below. 

“Shit.” Owen looked down after it. 

“I can still save you,” Curt said, his breathing becoming ragged. He knew he was going to pass out soon if he didn’t get medical help. 

“Not fucking like that you can’t!” Owen glared at him in disbelief, then down at his own gun. “And that was my last bullet.” He dropped it through the railing as well. 

Curt lifted his arm, fighting the pain in his shoulder, and brought his wrist to his mouth before realizing his comm was gone, and there was no way to call for help. “Owen,” he said, and the name felt so familiar on his lips. 

“Oh, don’t try that.” Owen sounded exhausted and neurotic at the same time.

“Please-”

“You left me for dead.”

“Hit the fire alarm,” Curt said, his voice almost a whisper. 

Owen shook his head. “Why the bloody hell would I do that? What are you trying to do, get found out?”

Curt tried to get a good solid breath, fill his lungs, but his chest was heavy. “I’m going to die in here if we don’t- that’ll get help quick-”

“You left me in a place just like this one, Curt. I was dying and you walked out.” Owen stood up. “This is- this is almost poetic, isn’t it?” He went up the stairs, rounded the corner. 

“Owen,” Curt called, but he wasn’t sure if his voice even reached to the stairwell. There was a deafening silence. Just- nothing, and Curt realized that this was exactly how Owen had felt before the explosion. He couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure when he’d lose enough blood to pass out, but it was going to be soon. And then he wouldn’t wake up. 

A loud noise shot through his head, ringing in his ears. In his semi-lucid state, it terrified him, and when he looked around to find it, something was falling on his face, on his back. It was cold. Water? There was a hand on his head, then on his knee. “Owen?”

Owen had sat down next to him, similarly drenched from the overhead sprinklers. “You’re lucky I loved you.” He spoke loudly, so he could be heard over the fire alarm. “Someone will be here soon. Fire department, probably, is first response. Russian security is notoriously tardy, so we’ll be out before they arrive. You can get to the hospital.”

Curt was leaning heavily on him. “Stay,” he said. Or maybe he just said it in his head, because he couldn’t hear a response. He couldn’t see, either. And then he couldn’t think.


	2. thirteen hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said every friday and its friday so ! from now on i'll stick to the twice weekly schedule

When Curt woke up, he heard the monitor first. That told him he’d made it to a hospital. Then he felt the catheter in his arm, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the bright fluorescent lights. He’d survived. He pushed himself up, leaning against the pillows of the hospital bed. The wound didn’t hurt, so he must have been on some sort of morphine. 

“There are security cameras all over the place in hospitals, so it’s only a matter of time before they find me.” Owen shrugged, tapped his fingers on his knee. He was sitting in a chair against the opposite wall of the room. “Maybe they’ll finally kill me.” He smiled, looking down at the linoleum floor. 

“Owen,” he said, and he couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“I know, I’m a bloody idiot for sticking around.” Owen cleared his throat. “I was always an idiot when it came to you.”

He sounded like he used to sound. That struck Curt like a bolt of lightning. He had that same vaguely sentimental touch to his voice that used to intoxicate Curt. “Do you-”

“Do I hate you?” Owen laughed under his breath. “I tried hating you for so long it was all I knew how to do. But I could never fully force myself into it. I was often fucking-” He held up a thumb and finger, indicating the tiny distance between them. “-this close, but there was always something holding me back.” He shook his head. “I wanted you dead for a good while, did you know that?”

Curt nodded. That felt horrible, but he did know. 

“But it wasn’t getting anywhere. It wasn’t working. I forgave you because I was desperate and I had no one else. Didn’t even have you, really, but a memory of you was better than nothing.” Owen shrugged. “You’ll never get rid of Chimera. Even if you kill every man involved, there’ll still be the compounds, and even if you destroy all of those there’ll still be the network. It’s unstoppable.”

“I don’t need-” began Curt. He stopped. Tried again. “I don’t need to stop it. That would be nice, and it’s a nice goal to have, but what I need- I need you back, Owen.”

“I’m already dead,” Owen replied, and shook his head at Curt. “Even if somehow I got away from them my body is fucked up. My left leg gives out on me. I can’t turn my head more than a little. My hands-” He looked down at them. “I won’t be able to work for anyone, not even Cynthia.”

This hurt. It hurt Curt worse than the bullet hole in his shoulder did. “You don’t have to work, just come home. Be safe.” He still couldn’t believe that Owen was alive. After everything he’d lost and all the grief he’d suffered through, he was getting a second chance. He couldn’t let it slip away. 

“I don’t have a home,” said Owen sharply. “And unless I can work, no one will want me anyways. And I can’t. Work.”

“But-”

“Can you hear what I’m telling you? I’m dead,” Owen said, voice rising. “You’re not saying anything, none of it matters, because they’re going to find me, and I’m a dead man walking.” 

“I’m sorry I left you there,” said Curt. “I’m sorry I let those guys hurt you. I screwed you over, alright? I’m sorry. I’ve been dreaming of getting a chance to go back and fix things and- listen, I fell apart without you. I have a safehouse, okay? A place down in Guadeloupe, you can stay there until- you can stay there.” 

Owen shook his head again. “You’re still trying to be the hero? After everything you fucked up? You break everything you touch, Curt. I just wanted you to kill me, and you couldn’t even do that.” 

“If you die, you’re just letting them win,” Curt said. He was getting sick of whatever suicidal bullshit Owen was spouting, because he couldn’t lose him again. “If you get back up and walk away, then you’re fighting. Get it?”

“You don’t understand, do you.” Bitterness and anger dripped from Owen’s words. “I’m scared. I’m fucking terrified of what they did to me, and I know they’ll do it again.”

“Fuck you, Owen,” Curt spat, and he began to feel some pain flaring up in his shoulder again. “You got roughed up by some guys. I drank enough for two decades in four years. It was a shitty bit of time. Get over it and start caring about yourself again.”

“They didn’t rough me up,” Owen said quietly. His eyes were focused on a point on the floor, on something invisible to Curt. “They shoved nails into my pressure points and poured acid over the wounds. They broke the same six ribs I broke in my fall every two months. They gave me some drug that made me see things that weren’t really there and feel things that weren’t happening. They-”

“Stop.” Curt couldn’t process what Owen was saying. He was sure it would hit him more fully later, but now all he could do was picture it. “You need help, Owen.”

“I needed help a couple of years ago,” Owen said matter-of-factly. “And you’re a little damn late.” 

Curt winced, but he knew that he’d have time to feel guilty later. “I need to get you out of there, alright? So get me a phone. Get something.”

“Give me a reason why I should do it. The more I do for you the more they’ll do to me.”

“Because they’re not going to get you again.” Curt couldn’t let that happen and know that for a second time, it would be on him. “I’m not going to let you go back there. You have to trust me.”

“I can’t.”

“Then just listen to me. We are going to leave the hospital. We’re going to the airport, and we’re getting on a plane. We’re going to land in Guadeloupe, we’re going to stay at my safehouse, and you’re going to get better.”

Owen sniffed. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Fine.” And he got up and left the room. 

Curt leaned back into his pillows. He wasn’t letting himself feel anything, trying to block himself out just until he had the situation under control. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if something went wrong. He watched as Owen came back with a nurse, who asked him several questions and then carefully took out his IV. 

Owen helped Curt up out of his bed and down the hallways of the hospital, out into the street. “I told her you were in active duty once. That you’re used to getting shot.”

Curt found a payphone, called his mom and let her know he’d be stopping by. Called Tatiana and told her he had to take some time off. Then they were on the plane. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @belkittykelly if u want to talk spies!


	3. one month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm updating mondays and fridays but like. i forgot about the mondays so im posting this at like eight at night rip

For the first few days, Owen didn’t speak. He stayed in his room. He wouldn’t eat. Then the next few days, he sat next to Curt’s mom as she went about her day. He watched television with her. He held yarn for her as she knitted. He sat at the table while she cooked, and he pretended he couldn’t see Curt. Then, after a few weeks, he started talking to her. Just little replies, agreeing with whatever topic she decided to rant about that day, or commenting over what she was reading or watching. She was always ecstatic whenever he did that. 

After the first month, Curt’s mom knocked on Curt’s bedroom door and didn’t wait for him to open it. She walked in, sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Mom, it’s eleven. I’m trying to go to sleep,” Curt mumbled. 

“Curtis, sit up and look at your mother,” she commanded. 

He did, rolling his eyes. “What?”

“I’m always a little hesitant when you bring one of your spy buddies home just because of what it means for my laundry machine, all that blood, but that boy has been more help around the house than you ever were.” 

Curt wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them to his chest. 

“Here’s the thing,” she continued. “He’s helpful, and quiet. He dries dishes for me and helps me fold the laundry, but I’m a mother, Curtis. I can tell when a kid is upset.”

“He’s not a kid, Mom.” 

“And you’re no better,” she said, cuffing his shoulder. “You mope around the house all day like you did in middle school.”

“It’s spy stuff, you wouldn’t understand,” Curt muttered. 

“Try me, sweetie.” 

Curt sighed, leaning his chin onto his knees. “It’s just like, so I thought he was dead, right? Remember? And he’s obviously not, and he was in a lot of trouble and I got him out of it and he hasn’t even talked to me. Not a word since we got here.”

“I wouldn’t want to talk to you either,” she said. “You need to cheer up a little. When you walk in a room it’s like a cloud going over the sun.”

“Mom, stop.” Curt was looking down at his blankets now. “He owes me.”

“You owe him.” 

“Um, no I don’t,” Curt argued. 

“Can’t you see that he’s staying here for you? Oh, wake up, Curtis,” she scolded. “That man isn’t the type who sticks around because he wants to help clear my table. He tries, but he’s so out of his element here at home he reminds me of your father. Show some gratitude, ‘cause he’s not doing all of this for me.”

Curt looked up at her. “Do you actually think that’s what it is?”

“I’m going to be out of the house tomorrow, I need to get my shopping done for the month,” she said, like she hadn’t heard him. “Whatever you decide on doing for dinner, leave some for me, alright?”

“Sure, Mom.” Curt nodded at her, because she was looking at him like she thought he was lying to her. 

“And keep an eye on him, alright? I wouldn’t trust that one alone. Not yet.” She sighed, leaned close to Curt and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Sorry for keeping you up, kiddo. Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Mom,” Curt said, and watched her leave, closing the door behind her. He didn’t like the idea of being alone in the house with Owen. It would be tense, uncomfortable. His mom had mediated before just by being present. He wasn’t sure what it would be like without her there. He drifted off into a turbulent sort of sleep, without dreams. 

When he woke up, he was almost nervous to leave his room. Then he remembered what his mom told him about leaving Owen alone, and he put on a shirt and went to the living room. 

Owen was sitting on the couch, reading one of Curt’s mom’s novels. He didn’t look up. 

Curt pretended he hadn’t seen him, and went over to the kitchen and made himself some coffee. He grabbed that morning’s newspaper and tried to focus. He couldn’t. Big surprise. 

The day passed in an agonizingly slow fashion. Owen wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t acknowledge him or even look at him, and he tried to make it seem that he was equally uninterested. He busied himself with household tasks that he didn’t really know how to do, and tried to wash dishes without breaking them. The hours - even the minutes - dragged by. The air felt charged to an uncomfortable level, like any movement would glean a static shock. 

“Your mom wants dinner when she gets back,” Owen said, coming out of his room. It was the first time he had spoken to Curt since they left the hospital a month ago. It was six eleven in the evening. 

“Right,” Curt replied, trying to make it sound like he hadn’t been waiting for Owen to talk or thinking up ways to start a conversation that he never used all day. “I’m not that good at cooking, so I was just going to do something simple like pasta, or-”

“Don’t worry over it, I can do it,” Owen said. His voice was quieter than Curt remembered it. “You can go back to your room, or whatever you were doing.” He went to the kitchen, pushed up his sleeves. 

Curt followed him, tried not to look at his forearms, which were covered in burns. “I can help. I’ll do whatever you don’t want to do.”

“Curt, you don’t have to.” Owen looked at him. Another first. He seemed tired. 

“No, but I want to. I should help my mom out more, she does all this stuff for me, and…” Curt’s voice trailed off as he felt whatever he was saying evaporate from his brain under Owen’s eye. He put his hands into his pockets. 

“I’ve got it,” Owen insisted. He pulled a rubber band off of his wrist and tied his hair back with it. 

“I’m not going to leave you alone with a knife.” That thought had been on Curt’s mind the entire time, and it slipped out before he could stop it. 

“Christ, Curt.” Owen held a fist to his forehead and scrunched his eyes shut. He sighed. “I wouldn’t do that to your mother.” 

Curt nodded. Everything about that hurt him. Owen was more interested in sheltering his mother than him. Owen was saying that if he were somewhere else, he’d do it. “Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“You’re not going to leave,” Owen said, not even asking.

“No.” 

“Sit at the table, I’ll ask you if I need help with anything,” instructed Owen. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

Curt watched him cook. There was an art to it, he realized, that he hadn’t mastered yet and probably never would. Owen had it down, though, going through steps that must have been lined up in his head with such focus that Curt was reminded of how he was on missions. It dawned on him that this was an intimacy. There were people who slept together for years and never got to watch each other cook. 

Owen finally put a cover over the pan he was using, and turned the stove off. “She can heat it back up whenever she gets home.” He made a piece of toast, almost as an afterthought, and picked it up with a paper napkin. He left the room with it. 

“Owen, wait.” Curt got up and followed him, stopping in the doorway to Owen’s room. He didn’t cross into it, even though the door was open. He knew he wasn’t welcome. “Thanks for doing that. For her. She’ll love it.” 

“I owe it to her,” Owen answered simply. He sat down on his bed. 

Curt didn’t know what to say. He could think of a million things but none of them seemed right. “Have a good night.”

Owen nodded. 

Curt patted the doorframe, and went back to his own room. 

The next morning, his mom told him that was the best dinner she’d had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe this isnt a hot take but.... curt.. is soft......


	4. two months

After the night when Owen cooked, he started talking a little more, bit by bit. He didn’t avoid saying things to Curt, although he did keep himself down to single sentences, and even then just pleasantries. It was impersonal, it was painful. It was better than nothing. 

Curt couldn’t shake the fact that there had to be something else he could do. He scoured his brain, trying to find a way to make things better, a way to help. He came up empty. 

Curt’s mom started going out more, now that she had people to take care of the house and do chores while she was gone. She would leave a list of things she wanted done, and Owen would insist he didn’t need Curt’s help to do them. 

It was ten on a Tuesday night when Owen knocked on the door to Curt’s bedroom. It had been two months since they arrived at the safehouse. 

“What do you want?” Curt asked. It was abrasive, which he knew the moment the words were out. He hadn’t known how else to phrase it. Owen wouldn’t show up for nothing. 

“May I come in?” Owen waited until Curt nodded, and then he stepped into the room. He was wearing an old shirt of Curt’s. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. 

“What’s going on?” Curt again realized there must have been a better way of phrasing the question moments too late. 

“There’s a lot of problems-” Owen touched his temple, took a breath. “Things aren’t great with us, love. I can’t stand you, you can’t stand me. Hell, it’s taken me this long to talk to you. I’m not saying we should try to fix it all now- I don’t even know if we can fix it.”

Curt could tell he was dancing around something. He knew Owen and didn’t know Owen all at once. 

Owen tucked his hair behind his ears. “Will you kiss me? For a little while?”

That was a bad idea. Curt knew right off the bat that it was bad, that he couldn’t say yes to it. Owen was right. Things weren’t great with them. He missed him so badly he couldn’t breath when he thought about it, but there had to be healthier ways to figure shit out.

“No- Curt, please-” There was a touch of panic in Owen’s voice, just off Curt’s silence. “I need it, you don’t- I need to feel real.” 

“What?” Curt shook his head. 

“Please,” Owen said. He sounded scared. “Please-”

“Owen…” Curt couldn’t think of anything to tell him. He wanted to give in, but it didn’t feel right. 

Owen took Curt’s face in his hands, pressed a kiss to his lips. He let out a breath. “Just give me a minute. Please. Just one minute.” 

Curt could feel his heart in his throat. There was a right choice and a wrong choice here. He had been holding onto memories of kissing Owen for years. His hand found the nape of Owen’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was so familiar, like time had never passed, like they were still both at the top of their game and nothing mattered. It was a heavy, warm kiss that he could feel in his chest, in his stomach. He’d made the wrong choice.

Owen leaned into Curt, took a fistful of Curt’s shirt and held onto it. When he kissed Curt it was urgent, like he only had a little bit of time to do everything. 

Curt wound his fingers into Owen’s hair and gave it a tug, maybe a little harder than he would have wanted on himself, but he knew what Owen liked. Or he used to.

Owen gave a sharp sigh, and pressed his forehead against Curt’s for a moment before resting his head on Curt’s shoulder. 

Curt rubbed Owen’s back, held onto him. He couldn’t tell if this was a dream or not. It seemed like a dream. But Owen had a physical presence in his arms, and he couldn’t dream that up. It felt good to be able to do something, no matter how dysfunctional it was. He didn’t feel quite as useless anymore. He was nervous to break the silence that had fallen, scared that if he spoke, Owen wouldn’t want to listen. He did, though, after a few moments of debating it. “Can you tell me what’s happening?”

“I think I get locked out of myself sometimes,” Owen murmured. He was still letting Curt hold him. “I can’t do anything and I’m watching my body from the outside. Usually pain brings me back, but…” He let out a breath, slowly, like he was using the time it took to straighten his thoughts. “It wasn’t working. And I’m tired of hurting, I’m just… tired.”

So Curt was getting used. Again. He wasn’t really surprised. He’d felt the same kind of dissociation after he’d lost Owen the first time, but he’d grounded himself with alcohol. Being used was alright, he reasoned, as long as he was being useful. “And I’m-”

“I feel things about you,” Owen said, his tone becoming defensive. He took a step back, out of Curt’s arms. “If I can just feel something, I’m alright, and I’m always angry at you or missing you and I loved you and I hated you, you’re- you’re all of it.”

“Do you hate me right now?” Curt was often angry at Owen. He never hated him. 

“Don’t ask me that.”

Curt looked at him and tried to meet his eyes. There was such a delicate balance with Owen that he was never sure if he was overstepping. This was the most Owen had spoken to him in a long time, though. 

“No, of course not.” Owen answered the question after staring at Curt like he had to analyze him. “No, I haven’t- I haven’t hated you in years.” 

“But you said-”

“Because I wish I did, maybe, sometimes, but-” Owen shrugged. “I’ve never had a good handle on my feelings. They’re another thing I’m shit at.” 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Curt asked. “I don’t want anything from you, I just think it might be good for you. For both of us.” There wasn’t a delicate way to say that he was terrified of the thought of Owen being on his own. 

Owen ran a hand through is hair. “Please don’t expect me to talk.” 

“I don’t.” 

Owen nodded. He took Curt’s arm and pulled him to the bed.

Curt flicked the lights out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so dissociation is like. a mood


	5. next morning

Waking up next to Owen made Curt sick with nostalgia. Everything was familiar. The sun on Owen’s hair, the way his chest rose and fell- Curt knew it all, he knew it so well it hurt. He felt like he couldn’t move or else he’d mess it up. 

When Owen started to stir, he got nervous. He hadn’t thought of anything to say, and Owen might be waiting on him to say something but he had nothing, and he remembered then that Owen wanted to hate him and what could he say to that anyway? And he was lying and staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom with half a mind to pull his arm out from under Owen’s shoulder because Owen wouldn’t want it there, and he realized he was letting his thoughts get away from him. 

He dragged his free hand over his face and sighed. He cleared his throat. “Owen? You up?”

“Yes.” Owen was turned away from him, and his voice was unreadable. 

Curt looked over at Owen’s back, and recalled when he used to wear the shirt Owen was wearing now. “I think we need to talk about some things.” 

“We worked because we didn’t talk.” Owen pulled the blankets tighter around him. “Or maybe we didn’t work, I can’t remember. I can’t talk.” His words were clipped and devoid of any telltale emotions. 

Curt caught himself grinding his teeth. “You’re talking right now.”

“I can’t talk,” Owen repeated. 

“Owen- can you look at me?” Curt wondered if that was too much to ask. He felt like he deserved that, at least. Maybe he was wrong. 

“No.”

“Owen, please.” He tried to pull Owen closer, to turn him around. 

“Don’t touch me,” Owen spat, and he sat up sharply. His knuckles were white, gripping the side of the bed, and he stared out across the room at nothing. 

Curt was shocked, and he pushed himself up tentatively, sitting away from Owen. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. For a second, he missed last night’s Owen, the Owen who held onto him and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, and then immediately he felt bad for missing that, because he knew Owen wasn’t okay last night. 

“I shouldn’t have come to you,” said Owen, his voice low and cold. “I was scared and I wasn’t thinking.”

“We have to start somewhere, why not here?” Curt suggested quietly. It hurt to hear what Owen was telling him, but the two months of silence that preceded this had killed him. This was better than nothing. 

“It was a mistake, I’m not ready to do this.” 

Curt looked at him, at his shoulders and the back of his head. “What are you scared of?”

“I need more time, you don’t- I need more time.” Owen’s voice diminished in volume, but the chill to it stayed. 

“For what?” Curt asked, and it was a genuine question. Connecting with other people had to be part of the recovery process, he reasoned. 

Owen breathed out, and he seemed to shrink, his shoulders slumping. “I need to get touched sometimes but I can’t handle it all the time. I’m not ready for all the time.”

“Owen, that’s fine,” breathed Curt. To hear that was a relief. Owen was coherent, he was making sense. And it seemed like progress. Sometimes was progress. “That’s okay.” 

“It’s not.” Owen was still staring at the wall, at something that was invisible to Curt. “I need to be touched. I don’t want to be.” 

Curt tried to figure out what that meant, what Owen wanted from him. He again felt incredibly useless, and lost, even though he was sitting on his own bed. “Just tell me when and how and I’ll- but god, Owen, I don’t want to do something you don’t want.” 

“I have to go,” Owen said under his breath. 

“No, don’t- just stay and talk a little more,” Curt begged. “We’re getting somewhere! Please, we’re getting somewhere.” He was scared that if Owen left now, he’d never get to talk to him again, and things would go back to barely acknowledgement between them. 

“This is too much for me,” murmured Owen, and he stood up for a moment only to collapse, and he broke his fall sort of efficiently, like he’d seen it coming. “Shit. Shit!” He tugged his legs up to his chest. 

Curt got up and offered him a hand. “Are you alright? What just happened?”

“No, fuck this. Fuck you. Fuck this.” Now Owen’s voice was readable, too readable. He was scared, he was furious. His fists were clenched, and he leaned his head onto his knees. 

“Do you need a hand up?” Curt asked quietly. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be seeing this. 

“No.” Small rivulets of blood began to run from Owen’s hands down his wrists.

“Cut that out,” Curt said sharply, and he knelt and pulled Owen’s hands out of the fists they were in. He stared at Owen’s palms, at the little crescent moon wounds in them from Owen’s fingernails, and willed them to stop bleeding. “Tell me what happened.”

Owen was taking deep, uneven breaths, and he stared down at his hands but he didn’t pull them out of Curt’s. “Did you expect me to be better? Just because I’m living in your house instead of in a compound I’m not-” He shook his head. “Curt, that fall, and then the shit they did to me- my body is really hurt.” 

Curt didn’t know what to say. He’d almost forgotten about that, that Owen was working through physical things as well as mental things. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t think this is going to get better,” Owen said softly. The words came out slow, like he was struggling to say them. 

“I’m sorry,” Curt repeated, because he was, and because it was all he could manage to say. 

Owen nodded, then shook his head, and he tugged his hands away from Curt. “No, I’m sorry for snapping at you. Don’t ever talk to me about this, alright?”

“What do you mean?” asked Curt. 

“Just don’t bring it up.” Owen let Curt pull him to his feet. “Forget it, forget it ever happened. Pretend the only problem I have is paranoia.”

“But I can’t help if you make me act like there’s nothing wrong,” Curt said, and the longer they talked, the more helpless he felt. Every time he thought he’d be able to do something to reach Owen, he hit a roadblock. 

“Curt,” Owen said, and he seemed to forget he was bleeding, because he briefly laid a hand on Curt’s chest and then winced when he saw the stain on Curt’s shirt. “I don’t want your help.”

“Don’t be proud about this,” pushed Curt. “Sometimes it’s okay to ask for help.”

Owen nodded slowly. “That's bullshit coming from you.” 

Curt couldn’t look at him for a second, because there was a point there. He’d never asked anyone for anything in the fifties, and it had hurt him. He wet his thumb on his tongue and tried to rub the blood out of his shirt - he only succeeded in smudging it around - and when he looked back up, he saw that Owen was pressing his fingers to his temple. 

“I’m kind of in a bad place,” Owen said, the words rushing from his lips, “right now, in my head- I’m- I have to be alone right now.” He was often not present, but now he sounded painfully so, painfully there and wishing he was somewhere else. Somewhere he could deal with whatever he was fighting. He stared at Curt, and his lips moved like he was trying to say something, but there were no words. 

Curt watched him slam the bedroom door behind him. He sighed, and realized he was exhausted. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep because he’d tried to stay awake, worried he’d get into Owen’s personal space if he drifted off. He might have gotten a few hours, but that wasn’t enough, and trying to talk to Owen had worn him out too. 

He used to be able to tell Owen anything. Hell, Owen usually knew what he was going to say before he even said it. He wished that it could just be that way again, that he’d just wake up one morning and all his mistakes had been a dream. But he was grateful for the chance to work up to it as well, to work until he’d fixed everything.


	6. two months and a week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> curt.... is really really soft...

Owen stayed in his room for three straight days after the night he slept with Curt, and after that he avoided talking with anyone. It got to the point where Curt’s mom started pestering Curt about it, asking him if something happened, if he said something to Owen, and if she had to scold him over it. 

He’d explained to her over and over that it wasn’t his fault, but this evening she was working up towards asking again. 

“I’m just wondering, like, why is he doing that? What’s making him do it?” She sat opposite Curt at the table, rolling her hair into its curlers for the night. “No one does that for no reason.” 

“Give it a rest, Mom.” Curt rubbed his face. “It’s nine, I don’t want to talk about it this late.” 

“Well, I’m just-” She stopped and looked up after hearing a little knock on the kitchen door frame. “Oh, hi, honey.” 

Owen stepped into the kitchen sort of tentatively, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be there. 

Curt’s mom stood up. “Do you want anything? Can I make you some tea? How are you?”

“Um-” Owen froze. He stared at her, and then he started to look around the kitchen nervously. He cleared his throat. “I’m alright, Margaret.” His voice was too quiet to fill the room properly. 

“What can I get you?” she pressed, going over to him. 

Again there was a pause, and he took the time to get over whatever was getting in the way of speaking. “Tea would be nice,” he said, and he stepped out of the way before she could put a hand on his shoulder. He sat down at the table.

Curt watched his mom go over to the stove. “Hey,” he said, and his voice sounded too loud compared to Owen’s. “Are you okay?”

Owen nodded. He had the ghost of a smile on his face even though he was digging his nails into the wrist of his other hand. 

“Boy, am I happy to see you,” Curt’s mom said, pulling a mug out of the cupboard. “I’ve been worried about you all week. Is peppermint alright?”

“Peppermint’s fine,” Owen answered, and he seemed to be relaxing a little, because he wasn’t looking over his shoulder every few moments anymore. 

Curt wanted to hold Owen’s hand, just to stop him from making himself bleed again, and to feel that he was really there. He settled for tapping Owen’s wrist briefly, hoping it would have the same effect. 

Owen looked down at his hands like he didn’t know what he’d been doing, and he let go of his wrist to glare at the little marks his nails had left in it. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Here you go,” Curt’s mom said, setting a cup of tea down on the table. “I’m going to turn in for the night but if you kids need anything, don’t be strangers.” She kissed Curt on the forehead and ambled out of the room.

Curt looked at Owen, and Owen looked back in a way that wasn’t hateful or tense or scared. The air was comfortable, and they hadn’t been alone and comfortable in years. Curt wasn’t going to talk, just in case this whole scene was breakable. He didn’t want to risk shattering it. 

Owen, however, didn’t mind, because he clasped his hands together and tucked them under his chin before saying, “I apologize. For keeping to myself lately.” His smile was back, if still faintly. “I’m trying to want help.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, okay?” Curt leaned back in his chair. 

Owen nodded. “Right.” 

“And you’re still you, even if you tripped,” Curt added. “You know that, right?”

“I’m-” Owen laughed a short, bitter laugh. “I’m working up to it. I just don’t like people seeing me like that.” 

“Which I get, I get where you’re coming from with that,” agreed Curt. “Remember how I used to be in the field when I got hurt?”

“Yes,” Owen said, almost fondly. He put on a voice just different enough from Curt’s to make it clear he was mocking him. “I’m fine. Hey, don’t look, but I’m fine.” 

Curt laughed. “Yeah, that was… yeah.” It felt so good to do this, to be able to smile, and to joke about something that didn’t matter anymore. “That was bad.”

Owen blew on his tea, letting the smile slowly fade from his lips. “Curt, I’m trying,” he said, and his voice broke. “I’m trying-”

“I know,” Curt said quickly, cutting him off. “Owen, it’s fucking great that you’re trying. I’d give up.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Owen whispered. 

Curt knew he was reading too much into Owen’s tone because he thought for a second that Owen’s words were said with the kind of quiet ferocity that only happened over love. His chest tightened even though he knew he was making it up, and he huffed out a breath. He told himself that he was not in love with Owen Carvour, because that ship had sailed a long time ago, and you could love someone without being in love with them. He would do anything for Owen. Owen had him fucked up. He loved, he wasn’t in love. There was a difference. 

“But I’m getting better, I swear.” There was a little touch of panic to Owen’s voice now. “I’ll get better, I’ll try to- I’m going to get better, just please-” He shook his head, dug his teeth into his bottom lip. 

“Please what?” Curt asked, almost nervous, because Owen looked so worried. 

Owen clenched his teeth and wiped his eyes. “Don’t get sick of waiting for me, don’t move on from me. I promise I’ll get better, just wait a little longer.”

Curt could feel his heart breaking. “You know me, Owen. I’m never going to get sick of waiting for you.”

Nodding, Owen buried his face in his hands. 

Curt could hear him breath. “And you are getting better, just like you said. You’re getting better.” 

“I’m getting better,” Owen repeated quietly. He let Curt pull his hands down, and his eyes were brimming with tears but he had that old smile fixed crookedly on his face. 

“Are you alright with me giving you a hug?” Curt asked, because he wasn’t going to touch Owen like that without making sure Owen was comfortable with it but it was killing him to not be holding him. 

“Please.” 

Curt stood, pulled Owen out of his seat as well, and just held onto him. He hid his face in Owen’s shoulder, blocking out the light of the kitchen, and felt Owen’s breath on his neck. He hoped there was a way for how tightly he held onto Owen’s shirt to convey how proud he was. Owen was warm, he was alive, and it felt unequivocally good to be with him like this. He tucked his chin on Owen’s shoulder and made himself take a breath. 

He never wanted to move. If he could stay like this forever, smelling peppermint and Owen and watching the warm light the old kitchen overhead gave off flicker once in a while because the bulb was on loose, he would. One of Owen’s hands was in his hair, and he couldn’t remember feeling this, like he wouldn’t have a nightmare if he went to sleep. 

He reminded himself again that he wasn’t in love, and he finally let go of Owen.

It took Owen a moment to step away, and when he did, it was only a tiny step, and he left his hand in Curt’s hair. “Thank you,” he said.

Curt looked up at him. “I don’t have to wait for you,” he said, maybe because what Owen had asked of him was just dawning on him now, or maybe because he finally realized why it hadn’t made sense to him. “Owen, you’re right damn here.” 

And Owen smiled. 


	7. two and a half months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw suicide attempt

But there wasn’t just ‘getting better’. There were good days and bad days. Owen was on and off like a light. On good days he would talk, as long as it wasn’t about him. He would smile with Curt’s mother about something in the news, or about one of her radio dramas. On really good days he would talk the way he used to talk, sentences littered with British additives that made him sound like he had a lot more money than he did. He’d cook on those days, not only for Curt’s mom but also for Curt. He would spend time around the house looking comfortable instead of looking scared. 

On bad days he’d glance up every time he heard a noise, and sometimes when he didn’t. He’d answer questions with one word, with a nod or the shake of his head. He stayed away from the other people in the house as much as possible. 

That’s why it was strange, that on an undeniably bad day, Curt’s mom called him to Owen’s room. 

Curt had been reading a letter that Cynthia sent him, letting him know that he was a ‘fucking idiot for standing up there at the conference’ and she wanted him gone more than she wished she could re-do Geneva. She was waiting to see him in person to tell him whether she’d fired him. 

“Curt, come here,” she’d said, loud enough for him to hear from the living room. She sounded worried, but then again, she always sounded worried. He didn’t think much of it. “Owen’s- I don’t know what to do-”

Curt got up from the couch and followed her voice to Owen’s room, and his veins filled with ice. 

Owen was leaning into the corner where his bed met the wall, his body bent over on itself, slumped on the ground. He would have been looking down into his lap, if his eyes were open. It looked unnatural. 

“What- when-” Curt tried to wrap his mind around it, and when that didn’t work he put himself in the mindset of a mission. That would focus him. There was a body, a witness. 

“I don’t know, I was bringing him his laundry, I-” Curt’s mom held her hands over her mouth. 

Curt knelt next to Owen, tilted his head up, checked his pulse. There was no blood anywhere. He looked around, looked on the bed. He had it in his head that he had to find a weapon, even though there was nothing he could see on Owen that suggested one was used. He looked through the clutter piled up on the bedside table. A plastic bottle lay on its side, the cap on the floor beside the table, some of the pills strewn over the papers it fell on top of. “Shit. Shit. Mom, why did you give him this?” He snatched the bottle, scanned the label. Nothing useful. 

“He’s always- so tired, I thought-”

Curt ran it all through his head. Say a prisoner was kept somewhere for interrogation. He was devoted to his agency, he’d rather die than reveal things, so sleeping pills. But you haven’t gotten everything he had to say out of him yet, and you can’t just take in someone else. “Um- Mom- dish soap and water. Mix it until there’s some bubbles.” He saw her leave the room out of the corner of his eye and made himself think of it as one of the scenarios posed in agency training. 

He pressed his fingers hard into Owen’s wrist, searching for a pulse that continued to elude him anywhere but the jugular. This would hit him later. God, it would hit him. He took the glass his mom offered him. It was filled with frothy liquid, tinged blue. He held Owen’s head and poured the liquid into his mouth. It was messy, it got into Owen’s hair and on his shirt. 

There was a moment, a couple of moments, of nothing. No sound, no movement. Suspense filled the air so thoroughly that Curt couldn’t even feel his heart beating. Thoughts rushed into his head that told him he’d done something wrong, and it wouldn’t work. 

Then Owen started to move, his body tensed, his eyes snapped open, and he lurched forwards. He was on his knees, fists clenched against the floor of his bedroom, coughing up the soap, the pills, and whatever he had taken them with. He was gasping for breath, air scraping through his throat like the tongs of a rake on asphalt. 

“Okay, Owen, take it easy.” Curt laid a hand on Owen’s back. This was just a test, it wasn’t real. It was just a test and it wasn’t real. 

Owen slowly sat back on his heels, coughs falling into sobs. He couldn’t catch a breath. His arms hung limp at his sides.

Curt froze up. There wasn’t any more protocol to go through, so he was left with nothing. 

Curt’s mom, though, knelt next to Owen and pulled him into an embrace. The soap on his shirt was getting on her dress, but she still held onto him. He didn’t make a move to stop her or to hold her back, but when she hugged him his eyes fell closed. 

After a minute, everything hit Curt. Owen had been a body just minutes ago. And he couldn’t function unless he pretended nothing was happening. He felt dizzy. He was sick of being in this position, being the one who had to deal with this fallout. He put an arm around his mom’s shoulders, leaned his forehead against Owen’s. He was so lucky they’d caught it in time. Another ten minutes, five minutes, and that would have been it. His mom was crying. He hadn’t seen his mom cry since he was eleven. 

Owen’s voice hadn’t come back yet. He kept choking on apologies. 

That evening, Curt couldn’t bring himself to look at either of them. His mom was doing dishes behind him, and Owen had drifted off to the living room. He was stuck sitting at the kitchen table, wishing he was someone other than himself. “Hey, Mom?”

She wiped her hands on a dish towel and came over to sit with him at the table. 

“What should I think? What- how do I act? What do I do?” Curt looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. He was so lost he felt like he was floating through space. “How can I help? What can I say?”

“You think I know, Curtis?” Her voice was hushed. She rubbed her forehead with a hand. “You think I know?”

“Sorry.” Curt cleared his throat quietly. “It’s just- he said he was getting better.” 

Her face twisted up, and she pressed her mouth into a thin line. She looked like she was going to start crying again. 

“Sorry,” he repeated quickly. “I shouldn’t have- it doesn’t matter now.” 

“Are you going to talk to him?” she asked. 

“I have to.” Curt nodded to himself. “Yeah, I need to, I just don’t know-”

“Will you tell him this from me?” Curt’s mom let out a long sigh. “If he does something like that again he’s not staying here anymore.”

“What?” Curt looked up at her. 

She shook her head. “With that damn job you do I have to worry about my own son dead all the time. I’m not ready for… no. I can’t handle it. And he’s so sweet to me, I think I love him too much to have to worry about that with him too. So you tell him that, alright?”

“Okay.” Curt didn’t know how to react to anything. Too much had happened that was still getting processed. There wasn’t room for any more. “I will.” He got up, kissed his mom on the head, and went over to the living room. There was a moment where his heart stopped, when he saw Owen look up at him from the couch. He forgot everything he’d wanted to say, so he just sat down next to him. 

Owen leaned his head onto Curt’s shoulder.

Curt put an arm around him. “You’re staying with me tonight, okay?”

Owen nodded.

“Okay.”

“Sorry,” Owen said. His voice was raw. “It’s not your fault.”

“Then what was it?” Curt wasn’t sure if there was a line he shouldn’t cross. 

“I’m just tired of everything,” Owen murmured. “I’m so tired. I’m tired of being all memories, I’m tired of being what they did to me. I can’t catch a break, you know? So I thought-” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to bring that here.”

Curt rubbed his shoulder. “My mom worries about you.”

“Sorry.”

“I wish I knew you.” Curt looked over at him. “I used to know you and then all that shit happened and- can we get to know each other again? Is that okay?”

“Give me time, Curt.” Owen sighed. “Just give me time.”


	8. four months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tati tatI TATI TATI

As much as Curt was terrified to leave Owen alone, he couldn’t keep ignoring Cynthia and the agency and his life forever, so eventually he made the trip up to the states. His mom assured him that she’d keep an eye on Owen, and in the months that had elapsed between when Owen did that, he’d gotten better. By a little bit. He didn’t seem to want help, even if Curt had stayed. So, back to Washington it was. If he didn’t answer Cynthia’s calls soon, she’d probably send out a hit on him anyway. 

Curt sat in a hard chair in her office, waiting for her to come back from some sort of meeting, no doubt with the leaders of the country. It felt strange to be at work again. He was positive that when Cynthia arrived, she was going to fire him. 

The door behind the desk opened.

Curt stood on instinct.

Tatiana walked in, and a smile blew up on her face when she saw him. “Curt!” She ran around the desk and pulled him into a hug. 

“What are you doing here?” Curt asked, resting his chin on her shoulder. He was laughing. He hadn’t seen her in so long. 

“Cynthia wanted to speak with me. I did not know you would be here.” She stepped back, put a hand on his face. “Oh, I missed you.”

“What’s going on?” Curt held onto her hand for a few moments. 

“Barb and I have been going all over the world,” Tatiana explained. “When we got rid of that first compound, Barb hacked into the network, and the information on it let us know that there were more. Many more. So we have been ticking compounds off as we destroy them.” 

“I’m sorry I dropped out,” said Curt. “I shouldn’t have- but you probably have things covered.” 

She shrugged. “It would not hurt to have another pair of hands.” She looked at him. “Cynthia has been funding everything. She was as scared by the idea of Chimera as we were, so she is behind getting rid of the compounds.”

“And you-?”

“I am still technically a free agent, but…” Tatiana smiled. “That may change. I am on the payroll of the secret service.”

Curt bumped her shoulder with his. “Congrats.”

“I know. I am a sellout.” She tried to get him to look her in the eyes. “This was about Owen, am I wrong? Is he alright?”

Curt nodded slowly. “He was bullshitting us in Prussia. The group that made the compounds had him under their thumb. I got him out.”

“And?” Tatiana waited expectantly.

“And what?”

“It has been months, what happened?”

“Um.” Curt shrugged. “He’s getting better. A little bit. My mom loves him.” 

“Have you told her yet?” Tatiana raised an eyebrow at him. “About you guys-”

“What? No,” Curt hissed, pushing her. 

She socked him in response, punching his arm without missing a beat. “Do not hit me. Why not?”

“It hasn’t been the right time. Yet.” Curt shrugged, held onto his arm where she hit it. 

“But-” Tatiana cut herself off and stood up straighter as Cynthia entered the room. 

“Hello, agents,” Cynthia said, taking a seat behind her desk. “Long time no see, Curt, you look awful.”

“Thanks.” Curt nodded. 

Cynthia let out a long sigh and lit a cigarette. “So, before you grovel at my feet for your job, I’ll tell you I’m not firing you.”

Curt raised his eyebrows. “You’re-”

“Do not interrupt me. You walked out on a mission of international importance.”

“But you didn’t even authorize-”

“You’re a deadbeat.” Cynthia pointed at Curt. “Shut up. It may not have been something I would have sent you on, but you still went, and you were still in the middle of it when you took off.”

Curt nodded. 

“I wanted to fire you-” She clenched a fist at him. “-so bad I almost sent out a hit on you. But you’re more useful in the field than out of it, and god knows what you do when you don’t have work. You’re on this Chimera thing now, alright? You’re not getting a new assignment until you finish it.”

“But I have…” Curt stopped. What did he have? Other things to be doing? Not by Cynthia’s standards. 

Cynthia waited for him to finish thinking it over and realizing he was wrong to speak before continuing. “Right. Now, I know this has been a difficult few months for you, so I don’t expect you to live in the field, but if you drop out on something again, that’s it for you. I’ll give you time now and again but don’t think your ass is in my good graces. Your first assignment is in a week. Tell Owen that our door is always open.”

Curt had no idea how she knew about Owen, or how she was being so nonchalant about it. “He’s not coming back.”

“Well, at least I tried.” Cynthia took a drag. “Tell him it’ll still be open in a year.”

“He’s not coming back,” Curt repeated. 

Cynthia sighed. “Pity. I’m assuming you know you’ll be working with Tatiana on these assignments. Barb will assist you. I don’t need any more of your time, and you certainly don’t deserve any more of mine. Out.” 

Curt stood, nodded to Cynthia, held onto Tatiana’s shoulder as a temporary goodbye, and began to leave the room. 

“Oh, and Curt?” Cynthia waited for him to turn around and face her. “Fuck you.” A smile spread over her face, and she waved. 

Curt smiled back at her, left the room, and leaned against the wall of the corridor. He wasn’t ready to get back in the field. He’d spent the last four months running errands for his mom and trying to keep Owen present and alive. Spying never crossed his mind, and now he had to jump back into it. He didn’t know how he felt about spending time away from the safehouse after being so integral there for so long. He knew his mom was happy about having him home. He didn’t want her to worry more than she already did. She spent too much time worrying about him, and going back into the field would only perpetuate that. 

Tatiana walked out, stood next to him. “Cynthia likes me better,” she said. 

Curt looked up at her. “I don’t doubt that. What was she telling you?”

“Classified.”

“Are you seriously-” He laughed. “Are you really pulling that on me?”

Tatiana grinned. “When are we leaving?”

“What?”

“I assume you are going back to Guadeloupe before we head out to the next compound,” Tatiana explained. “And I have gone far too long without seeing your mother. We have lots to catch up on. When will we leave for that?”

“Did you just invite yourself over?” Curt raised an eyebrow at her.

Tatiana shrugged one shoulder. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TATI


	9. four months and a few days

“I am so excited,” Tatiana said, her voice hushed, as she and Curt walked up the long driveway to the safehouse. “I cannot wait to tell Maggie everything I did since we last saw each other.”

Curt squinted at her. “You know my mom’s-”

“Of course! She introduced herself when she was showing me her scrapbooks.” Tatiana put an arm around Curt. “And I get to meet Owen when he is not threatening my life. Fun!”

“Yeah. I don’t know how he’ll be, so…” Curt looked up at her. He actually had no idea how Owen would be. He’d been gone for almost a week getting integrated back into the agency. “Just don’t push him.”

Tatiana nodded. “I know what it is like to get away from a controlling agency. Sometimes it leaves scars.” She gave Curt’s shoulders a squeeze and knocked on the door. 

When Curt’s mom opened it, her face lit up. “Tati!”

“Margaret!” Tatiana replied, with equal enthusiasm, holding out her arms. 

Curt’s mom brushed past Curt and gave Tatiana a huge hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again, sweetheart. Come in! Come in, I’ve got a new rug in the living room that you’re going to love. Curtis, shoes off in the house.”

Curt smiled, pulling the door closed behind him. He took his shoes off and left them in the hall. It warmed his heart to see his mom so happy, to see Tatiana so happy. It was so close to having a normal life with a normal family. 

“You’re just in time for dinner,” Curt’s mom was saying, leading Tatiana by the arm through the house. “You know I can’t make anything but noodles and jello without instructions, but Owen can cook. Do you know Owen?”

“I have made his acquaintance, yes,” Tatiana said, looking over her shoulder at Curt. 

He caught up with them. “Mom, where is Owen? I don’t want this to surprise him.” 

“Kitchen, honey.” His mom smiled at him. “Tati, darling, I need to show you my arts and crafts room, alright? You won’t believe the new wallpaper.” She led Tatiana, who gave Curt a grin, down the hall. 

Curt went to the kitchen and stood by the table. “Owen, Tatiana’s here.”

“I’m aware,” Owen replied, not turning away from the cutting board he was working at. “You made quite the fuss coming in.” He used the knife and a hand to drop what he was cutting up into a pot on the stove, and then he spun to face Curt. He was smiling. He looked well rested. In fact, he looked the best he had since nineteen fifty-seven. 

“Did you sleep the whole week I was away?” asked Curt. 

Owen chuckled under his breath, like he used to. “I wish. No, my paranoia just eased up on me a bit.”

“That’s amazing,” Curt said. “You look great.”

Owen shrugged. “You’re not half bad yourself. Good to see you back in a suit.”

“What changed?” Curt asked, tempted to laugh. He was getting almost giddy, and not just because Tatiana was here to visit but because Owen seemed to have somehow found the mental stability he had in the old days and merged it with how gentle he was now. Just a few months ago, Owen was dying at his own hand. Now he was flourishing. 

“I’m not sure. My body feels as shitty as ever and it all still hurts but I’m actually okay.” Owen was smiling. “I don’t know why, but it feels good to be alive.”

Curt wanted to hug him or kiss him but he wasn’t sure if it was his place to do so. 

“And- listen, Curt.” Owen looked sincere. He was still glowing. “I feel really… sound right now, and I don’t know how long it’s going to last so I have to tell you some things, honestly. I don’t blame you for the Chimera thing. I tried doing that and it wasn’t working or giving me anything, so I’m done with it. I can’t promise that I’ll always be alright but I promise I won’t- I’m going to start trying to stay alive and stop trying to die, okay? And I’ll try to be less distant and I’ll try to- try with you, and I miss you.” He held up the hand that didn’t have a knife in it, signifying that he was done.

Curt took Owen’s hand in his own and kissed his knuckles. “I have to leave in a few days. Cynthia is putting me back in the field.”

Owen nodded. His smile faltered. “Good for you.”

Tatiana peeked her head into the kitchen. “Can I say hello?”

Owen dropped Curt’s hand and crossed the room to her. “I’m sorry we had to meet under such troubling circumstances the first time.”

“It is no problem. I often meet people under troubling circumstances.” Tatiana shook his hand. “You were not under your own jurisdiction when you threatened me, correct?”

Owen shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. It was- I was-”

“I understand. I have been there,” Tatiana said. She took Owen by the arm and brought him over to the table. Even when they sat, she didn’t take her hand from his. “How did they get you?”

Owen let out a breath. “I was dying. I thought they were going to help.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t do anything about it even if I had my wits about me.”

Tatiana nodded. “I was… four years old. I had no idea what was happening. I was in the field by the time I was seven. I grew up as an agent.”

Curt pretended to be doing something at the stove. He felt like he was intruding on something he wasn’t supposed to hear, something he couldn’t relate to. He couldn’t exactly join the conversation, but it was awkward just standing there listening. 

Owen and Tatiana traded stories, and while Owen seemed to have trouble voicing what had happened to him, it sounded like talking with her was helping. Tatiana made it seem like a regular conversation, like that happened to everyone. She was a wonderful speaker, despite not even being completely fluent in English. 

“Here, nineteen fifty-four,” Tatiana was saying, and she pulled back her hair. 

They were on to comparing scars. 

“Forty-nine,” Owen countered, rolling up his sleeve. 

“I’m going to go check on my mom,” Curt interjected. He left the room, uncomfortable. He was glad that they were getting along so well, but he couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. He went over to the closet his mom had converted into an arts and crafts space for her scrapbooking and knocked on the door. 

She told him, without opening it, that he couldn’t come in because she was working on a surprise. Classic. It would probably be embarrassing.

When he went back into the kitchen, Tatiana gazed up at him with what might have been awe. “What?” he said, sitting down with them at the table. 

“Owen was telling me about what you did before,” she said, hands clasped and tucked under her chin. “You were the best spy- I cannot believe I get to work with you, you were a legend.”

Curt glared at Owen. “I was. Don’t know why you’d be talking about that.”

“As if you’d ever turn down flattery, love,” Owen shot back. He was smiling. He nudged Tatiana over the table. “I was telling her our war stories.”

“War stories,” Curt repeated, shaking his head. “It was all just you showing me up, every mission.”

Tatiana giggled. “Not so, not as I heard. He told me you were the one who showed him up.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t say that,” Curt argued. It was so sweet, all of it was so sweet. Tatiana was being kind and open to Owen. Owen was reminiscing without getting hurt by it. They were his two best friends, finally together in one room. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

They sat and chatted like they had normal professions and normal lives, and it was relieving. To be able to discuss things that regularly they had to hide. It was like letting go of a breath they’d been holding for a long time. 

After a while, Curt’s mom came into the room, and she set a pair of shoes on the table. They were white, clearly old but not worn or dirty. “Tati,” she said, putting her hands on Tatiana’s shoulders. “I want you to have these. Now, I don’t know when you two are going to have the wedding, but I thought the least I could do was pass these on to you.” 

Tatiana picked up one of the shoes, looked it over. “These are… beautiful, Maggie.” 

“I wore them,” Curt’s mom said, her voice becoming uncharacteristically quiet. “The day I married Curt’s father, I wore them. I want you to have them.” 

Tatiana stood and gave her a hug. “That is-” She put a hand over her chest. “It is special of you to do this. For me.”

“Mom, don’t,” Curt said, looking at the shoes on the table. “You can’t- put them away.”

Owen looked like he was about to start laughing. 

“Hush up, Curtis. It’s my son’s wedding, I want it to be perfect.” His mom took Tatiana’s hands. “I know the dress is up to you, Tati, but it would mean a lot to me if you wore them. If they don’t match, I understand, but-” 

“If Curt and I ever have a wedding, I will wear them,” Tatiana promised. “Whether they match the dress or not.” She shot a glance down at Curt. 

“Oh, you’re an angel.” Curt’s mom picked up the shoes. “I’ll put these in the guest room with your bags, alright?”

Tatiana nodded. She sat down as Curt’s mom left the room. 

Curt put his head in his hands. “Sorry about her.” 

Owen started laughing, trying to cover it up with a hand over his mouth. 

“You do not need to apologize, she is very sweet,” Tatiana said. 

“This is on you,” Owen said, through laughter. He pushed Curt’s shoulder. “If you told her-”

“Shut the hell up,” Curt replied, sitting back in his chair. “As if your parents knew.”

“They did,” said Owen, sounding happy with himself for proving Curt wrong. “They kicked me out when I was fifteen, but your mom wouldn’t give a shit.” He was still smiling. 

Tatiana touched his shoulder for a second, and he shrugged it off. 

“I just- don’t know, though.” Curt didn’t want to look at either of them. “It’s not the right time yet-”

“The right time had better come soon, or else our wedding will roll around, and I am not marrying you,” Tatiana said. She leaned her head onto Curt’s shoulder. “Never ever.”

Curt sort of knew that they were right. He didn’t have forever. Time was finite, and the odds of him getting killed in the field were pretty high. His job was dangerous. He’d learned to accept that he probably wasn’t going to have a long life, and the thought of taking that secret with him to his grave made him feel dizzy and cold. He didn’t want that. His mom deserved to know. But it had waited for years. It could wait a little longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again.. soft...


	10. four months and a week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dare i say the softest chapter yet...

Curt was aiming for a good night’s sleep that night. He and Tatiana planned to leave in the morning to rendezvous with Barb and then head out to destroy a compound, the first of many. But he drifted in and out of his dreams, disturbed by them yet not disturbed enough to turn on a light. Part of being a spy was being a light sleeper. So when there was a knock at his door, he woke up easily. 

He looked over at his clock. It was one thirty in the morning. He got out of bed slowly and felt his way over to the door. The second he opened it, Owen brushed past him and into the room. 

“You can’t leave tomorrow, you can’t leave-” Owen was saying. “Just put it off for a little while longer, don’t- you can’t-”

“What?” Curt closed the door, trying to get himself fully conscious, or at least enough to hold a conversation. 

“You can’t go, alright? Please don’t leave.” Owen sounded scared. 

“It’s the middle of the night.” Curt sighed. “Why now?”

“Will you promise not to go?”

“I can’t. I need to get my job back, do spy shit again. That’s who I am,” Curt said, finding Owen’s shoulder in the dark and walking him over to the bed. They sat down, side by side. 

“But I-”

“You’ll keep getting better,” Curt assured. “I was gone for a week to visit Cynthia and when I came back you were doing great. It’ll be just like that.” 

Owen shook his head vehemently. “No, I’m good because I have you and if you leave I’ll be- I won’t be able to work anymore.”

“Owen, it’s late. You’re confused.” Curt didn’t know what else to say. The last thing he wanted was more guilt about leaving. He already felt bad about having to say goodbye to his mom without knowing when he’d be back. He’d tried not to think about factoring in Owen. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Owen spat. He sounded angry and panicked. “Don’t fucking- because you left me before, remember? You left me before, and I died every day. Why are you doing it again?”

“I have to, get it?” Curt knew Owen was in some sort of spiral right now. He’d been in his own spirals before, and tried to remember what he did to get out of them. Talked himself down. Drank, mostly. 

“I get it but please, please, please stay.” 

Curt realized that Owen was crying, and trying to hide it. “Snap out of it, alright? And don’t blame me for that, I thought- you were dead in my mind. There was nothing to go back for. And you know I can’t stay now so why are you doing this?” He didn’t want to snap but it was one in the goddamn morning and he really didn’t need that on his thoughts trying to go back to sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Owen said. “I was feeling better, though, and I’m so scared of going back- I’m erasing all the progress I made and I’m aware of it as it’s happening but I can’t stop it and that frightens me.” His hands went up to cover his mouth. “I know I’ll get worse and worse and-”

“Look, Owen.” Curt rubbed his hands on his knees. “I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to get defensive. I can’t stay but I can tell you some things I wanted you to know before I left. Will that help?”

“Maybe.” Owen wiped his eyes. “But I’m scared-”

“It’s alright to be scared of shit. It’s a scary world and you and I have seen the worst of it,” Curt said. “But you’re at home. Even when I’m gone, my mom will be here for you, and I’ll call you guys whenever I can. Will you let me talk?”

“Yes.”

“What I wanted to tell you is this,” said Curt. “I still love you.” He spaced out the words a little too much, doubting each one of them. He shrugged. “That’s it. I never stopped loving you, even when you were gone, but I also- I fell in love with who you’re becoming, too.”

Owen sniffed. “That’s sappy. I suppose that was always your sort of thing.” Then he leaned his head into Curt’s shoulder and let Curt’s shirt blot his tears. He didn’t flinch away when Curt put an arm around him. 

“Thanks, Owen.” Curt chuckled. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He was calming Owen down, though, which was what he’d wanted to do. 

“Right, I know you want something back,” Owen said, his voice muffled. “I’m shit at love, you know that better than anybody, so I can’t say that-” He sighed a shaky sigh. “But I do want you like I used to want you. I definitely do.” 

Curt nodded slowly, trying to figure out how that made him feel. Warm. A little proud. Like he was enough but then again maybe he wasn’t because Owen didn’t love him and if that was the case it was on him. He had no control over his thoughts this late at night. “How did you used to want me?” he whispered. 

“With every bit of my heart.” Owen sighed again. 

“What do you want me to say, Owen?” Curt asked. “What can I say to that? You already know I’d do anything for you, that still stands.”

“Stay for me.”

“I can’t,” Curt said. “I’m doing this for you, do you understand that? I have to go burn all those places down because when I’m done, you’ll be free. They won’t have anything on you because they’ll be gone.”

Owen fumbled in the dark until he found Curt’s hand, and he held it. “Thanks.”

“You’re not going to lose any of yourself when I’m away, okay?” Curt was just checking to make sure Owen had come down from whatever panic he was in. Plus, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to go if he left this unsettled. 

“Okay. Can I stay with you tonight?” There was a bit of tension in Owen’s voice, like he was unsure of what the answer would be.

“Of course,” Curt said. “Yeah, of course, I would have asked if you didn’t.” 

“And can we clarify this?” Owen asked, tucking himself under the blankets and trying to make room for Curt. “I just want to know, before you go, if I’m waiting for Curt my friend or Curt who loves me.”

“Well, I love you, so…” Curt laid down, got his arm around Owen. He wasn’t entirely sure what the question was, what Owen wanted him to say. 

Owen looked at Curt over the pillow. “Will you still love me when you come back?”

Curt was drowning in memories, in deja vu, because he’d been with Owen like this in so many different hotel rooms, and was just as smitten then as he was now. He tried to shake off the familiarity of it so he wouldn’t lose his train of thought. But it was just that - familiar - and he couldn’t avoid that, and everything was fitting just like it used to, and he never thought he’d get the chance to do this again. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m willing to-” Owen stopped, seemed to consider. “I want to try again, alright? If you’ll have me.”

“Oh my god, of course,” Curt said. Everything felt too good, like it couldn’t be happening. It was more than what he was used to, it was too open or too honest, he was too lucky or too loved. Despite the familiarity of being with Owen, this was new, different from their old relationship. Shaping up to be better, healthier. “I’d love that. I’ll be gone…. a lot of the time. But I still- I promise-” He found himself getting choked up. 

“No, you don’t-” Owen took a breath, collecting himself. “You don’t owe me anything, Curt, alright? You loved me when we worked together even though I couldn’t kiss you with the lights on, you still believed in me even when I’d been dead for half a decade, you saved my life after I shot you, I just yelled at you and you took me to bed, for christ’s sake. You’re letting me stay in your home- no, you don’t owe me. I owe you.”

“But…” Curt struggled to justify those things. He was in love, that was the only reason he could fall back on. He was in love and he was too soft for his line of work. 

Owen touched Curt’s face, fingers brushing his cheek, his lips. He pulled his hand back. “No, I haven’t been kind. I haven’t been kind to you.”

“You’ve been enough, alright?” Curt caught his hand and held onto it. “That’s all you ever need to be, no one can be kind all the time. Especially not in a world like this.”

Owen pulled Curt closer over the pillow and kissed his forehead. “You got wise while I was dead.” 

“You sound like a professor or something.” Curt’s whole body was full of warm comfort, because this was real, it was really happening, he and Owen were in bed together, talking instead of ignoring each other. 

“And you need to get up early tomorrow and save the world,” Owen replied immediately. “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep, I’m not fucking around,” said Owen. But he was definitely fucking around because he was smiling, and there was laughter hiding beneath his words. “You’re going to cry tomorrow when you have to leave if you’re tired, I know you.”

That was true, Curt knew it as well. And there were benefits to getting at least a few hours of sleep before a mission, mainly surviving said mission. But just those words,  _ I know you _ , and he was overthinking everything in a way that made him happier than he’d been in a long time. He knew that they knew each other. He’d just never expected Owen to say it out loud. “You’re okay, right? When you came in you weren’t-”

“I’m fine,” Owen answered quickly. His voice sounded like he was smiling. “Curt, I’m wonderful. Can we go to sleep now?”

“Yeah.” As the minutes that followed passed in comfortable silence, Curt remembered how easy it was to fall asleep next to Owen. 


	11. next morning

“Curtis, your friends are waiting for you at the table.”

Curt was awake immediately, and he sat up, looking around the room before finding his mom in the doorway. Owen was gone.

“Oh, sorry. Did I scare you?” She shuffled into the room. “I thought you’d be up already, sweetie.”

Curt took a moment to get his bearings and shake off the remnants of sleep. He rubbed his face. “What time is it?”

“Let’s see…” She consulted her watch. “Almost eight forty-five. Listen, your bags are by the door next to Tati’s. If you forget anything here, just call and I’ll mail it to Barbara, alright?”

Right. He was leaving this morning. He nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He smiled at her as she left, and made himself get up and get dressed. He scoured his room for anything he might have forgotten to pack. He went out to the kitchen, sat down at the table next to Tatiana. 

“Ready to go?” she asked immediately, putting a hand on his shoulder. She was smiling, and pushed her half finished mug of coffee towards him. “Want any?”

“Ew.” He pushed it back, and sighed. He was still sort of waking up. He leaned his shoulder against hers. “I’m going to miss them,” he whispered, gesturing clandestinely to Owen and his mom. 

They were standing by the stove, absorbed in their own conversation. Owen was gesticulating whatever he was saying with a spatula, and Curt’s mom was laughing at every pause in their discussion. 

“I will as well,” Tatiana agreed. She looked at him. “Thank you for letting me know your family.”

“It’s just Mom and Owen.” He shrugged. The last thing he needed was for her to get emotional, because he knew saying goodbye would be hard enough and if she made him cry now, he probably wouldn’t stop until they were halfway to the compound they had to burn. 

“They are so nice to me,” Tatiana said. “Just let me say thank you.”

“Fine.” Curt gave her shoulder a gentle nudge with his. 

Curt’s mom set a cup of tea down for him. “Do you two have a date for the wedding yet?”

“Ugh, Mom.” Curt pulled his chair away from Tatiana’s. “You’re being embarrassing.”

She held up her hands. “Alright, alright, I was just asking. You’ll let me design your invitations, though, right?” 

Curt glared at her. “Mom-”

“Of course, Maggie,” Tatiana interrupted, smiling across the table at her. 

Owen left the stove to sit with them at the table. “When are you two off?”

“Really, as soon as possible,” answered Tatiana. She turned to Curt. “It would be best if we got to our hotel early so Barb can run you through using all of the new things she has developed since you left.”

He nodded. “Okay. I guess we should head out, then.”

His mom seemed sad when she looked at him, and Owen just didn’t look at him.

“Yes.” Tatiana stood, pushing her chair in. “We do have a bit of a flight. Maggie, it was so kind of you to let me stay with you.” She held out her hand for Curt’s mom to shake, and accepted the hug she got instead. 

“My safehouse is your safehouse, you know that,” Curt’s mom said, holding Tatiana at arm’s length and looking her over. “Boy, will I miss you till Curtis gets shot again. Listen, if you’re ever in the area don’t be scared to drop by.”

“I will try to,” Tatiana said. “Goodbye. Thank you again for everything.” 

Curt’s mom put a hand over her heart. “Godspeed, Tati.”

Tatiana nodded. “Owen, it was nice to meet you. I hope we will talk again.”

Owen stood to shake her hand. “Bring him back home safe, alright?”

“I will try.” She locked eyes with him, holding onto his hand for a moment. “Curt, I will wait for you in the car. Maggie, Owen, goodbye.” She waved as she left the room, stopping by the front door to pick up her bags before stepping out into the driveway. 

Curt stood up. He’d been trying to think of things to say the whole time Tatiana was talking, and he’d come up empty. There weren’t words to convey how much he wished he could stay. He just looked at them, and tried not to cry. 

“Curtis, you stay safe out there,” his mom said, breaking the silence. She pulled him into a hug. 

“I will,” he replied. Now it was easy to talk. It would be harder to stop. “Mom, listen, you need to take care of yourself while I’m gone. You need to take care of him while I’m gone. I’ll try to call you when I can, but I don’t know how often that’ll be. I’m sorry I can’t stay, and I love you, and I’m sorry I never stay.”

“Sweetheart, don’t apologize for that,” she said, putting a hand on his cheek. “Part of being a mother is letting go. Just come home at some point. And make sure Tati comes with you.”

Curt nodded, and hugged her again. He went to Owen, whose eyes were on the floor and whose hands were clasped behind his back. “Owen, I-”

“If you die out there I’ll kill you,” Owen said. His voice was soft. He didn’t look up. 

“I know.” Curt put a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“I’m the smart one, remember? You don’t need to worry about that.” Owen smiled for a second, and then became neutral again. “Focus on your mission while you’re out there. Don’t turn down help because you want to look cool, that’ll get you killed. Be careful. Have her back.” He looked up, met Curt’s eyes. 

“I know,” Curt repeated. “I-” He stopped himself, looked over at his mom, then back. It was such a simple thing to say, and he’d said it just last night and countless times before, and now he couldn’t. I love you. That’s all it was. He might not come back, he might never get another chance to say it, this might be the last time he was with Owen, he had to say it now or- “Take care.” He gave Owen’s shoulder a squeeze, nodded, and left the house. 

He threw his bags into the back of the car and sat down in the passenger seat. He was angry, not just at himself but at everything. It was three fucking words, and he couldn’t say them because he was a coward. He hadn’t been angry like this in a long time. 

“You alright?” asked Tatiana, starting the car and beginning the ascent up the long driveway. 

“Um, nope.” Curt buckled his seatbelt. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” He leaned his head back against his seat and sighed. “It’s just fucked, though, right? The world is fucked.”

Tatiana pulled out of the driveway and turned onto the road, beginning the drive to the airport. “That is true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tatiana's voice is literally so hard to get rip


	12. next day

A day later, after a tiring flight under boring covers, they brought their bags up to the hotel room they’d be working from. 

Barb gasped when they opened the door, and rushed over to give Tatiana a kiss on both cheeks before flinging herself into Curt’s arms. “I thought I was never going to see you again!” she squealed. 

Curt dropped his bags to catch her, and held onto her for a few moments. He wouldn’t tell her, but it warmed his heart that she missed him so much. He let her back down onto her feet. “Barb. Long time no see.”

Barb laughed. “Yeah, totally.” Her lip started to quiver. “Aw, Curt.” She hugged him again, hiding her face in his shirt. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

Curt patted her back. “I’m a sucker for saving the world, you know that.” 

“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding and stepping away. She wiped her nose. 

“Now that is out of the way should we talk plans for tonight?” Tatiana put her bags in the corner of the room. 

“We’re going tonight?” Curt looked over at her. He’d felt shell shocked ever since getting on the plane to the states, and now he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t ready for another mission. “I’m not…” But this was his last chance to get back up, and he couldn’t ignore it. “Alright.”

Tatiana nodded sharply. She was a different person now that she was in the field, more precise, less bubbly. Like the first time she met Curt. 

They listened as Barb ran them through what tech they’d be using, where they’d go, how they’d get in and out, and the logistics of the compound they’d be visiting. They pretended again to be people they weren’t and got in a cab that took them to what was disguised as some kind of warehouse. They waited until the cab left to cut the lock on the imposing wire fence. 

And then the lights went up, and it was just like it used to be. A regular night in the field. Disabling the security system was easy enough, and there were hardly any people in the building. Rows and rows of plastic boxes connected by wires filled the warehouse, standing cold and silent, and on occasion one would light up, and then go out. Tatiana turned the wiring against itself to start an electrical fire while he stood guard for her. 

Sound cascaded in around them, the crackle of sparks flying as console after console caught fire, and he wasn’t seeing any of it. It had been fine a second ago but now it wasn’t an electrical fire, it was the bombs he’d set a minute too short, and he couldn’t see the ground but he knew who was down there, who couldn’t get out in time.

His ears were ringing, and he couldn’t get himself to move. He looked down into the flames, because this building had the same exact layout as the weapons facility, because they were the same, and it was that same day, and that same moment. He told himself to move, because bombs don’t wait for anyone and he was pushing his luck as it was. His body wasn’t listening. 

It was easy to get lost in fire, that much he knew. Especially a fire this familiar. He should go, see if there was anything he could do. It very well could be too late, but he had to try. 

“Curt! Curt, what the hell are you doing?”

He couldn’t turn his head to see who was yelling. If he’d just stopped showing off for a second and set them for four minutes none of this would be happening. 

Something hit him in the face, and his hands went up to cover it. He screwed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, he could see blood on his fingers. He looked up, right at Tatiana, who was standing inches away from him. The building was different, the fire was different, it was all different. 

“We need to go. Now!” Tatiana pushed him towards the door, and then ran.

He followed her out of the warehouse, through the fence, and a while down the dirt road to the compound before she finally slowed down and he could catch up with her. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. He was out of breath. The first thing about being a spy was keeping your partner alive, and he’d frozen on her. 

“What happened?” Tatiana was gesturing to the blazing building through the trees surrounding the road with the gun she held. 

“Are you okay?” breathed Curt. He tried to put a hand on her shoulder, and she smacked it down. 

“What happened?” she repeated. She was almost yelling. Everything about her was in disarray from the fire and the running. The moon shone down on her face, which was painted with a smudge of ash. 

“You hit me,” he said, reaching up and touching his nose, which was bleeding. “I was- remembering-” 

“I had to hit you, you were standing in the middle of a burning building and you were not listening to me when I tried to talk to you,” Tatiana said, sounding confused and angry at the same time. “You were not leaving even though- what happened?”

Curt couldn’t look at her. “It was one of those things where- I thought something was happening, and it wasn’t, but I thought- Tatiana, I’m sorry-” He held a hand to his mouth. It was exactly what he’d been scared of, and it had happened, and he hadn’t thought quick enough to get out of it. 

“The same thing happened when we were in Monte Carlo, did it not?” asked Tatiana, and her voice was softer. “When you were shot?”

“Uh, yeah.” He tried to ground himself. “It- it happens sometimes and I thought I’d be okay, but…” He shrugged. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to go out on you like that.”

Tatiana shook her head. “There is nothing we can do about it now, it is in the past. Do not trouble yourself over it. But do not do that again, especially not to me.”

“It’s not a thing I can chose, it just happens,” he said, and they began to walk down to the end of the road, where Barb had agreed to pick them up. 

“Bullshit.” Tatiana kept her eyes on the road ahead. “You are stronger than your memories, Curt. You are not theirs.”

He couldn’t look at her without feeling guilty. If something had happened to her, it would have been on him. “That’s pretty,” he said. It was. They were powerful words, and just hearing them made him feel tougher than he was. 

“It is what I told myself every night when I was in the Union.” Tatiana’s voice was devoid of emotion, just stating a fact. They came to the end of the road. 

“Tatiana, I’m sorry I can’t be better for you.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and hunched his shoulders up against the cold night air. 

“That is a stupid thing to say,” she replied. “I have already forgotten what happened, yes? We destroyed the compound like we wanted to, and we both got out alive. That is all that matters.” 

Curt sighed. He was sick of being a liability but he was too tired to fight with her about it. “Will you not tell Barb? Please?”

“Why not? I trust her.” Tatiana looked at her watch, then out at the road. 

“I don’t want her to see me like that, okay? She thinks I’m, like… a hero, or something.” Curt shook his head. “Whatever.”

“I will not tell her if you do not want her to know.” Tatiana laid a tentative hand on Curt’s chest. 

He pulled her into a hug, rested his head on her shoulder, and they were illuminated by the headlights of the car that pulled up. 

Tatiana quickly stepped back and got into the passenger seat. 

Curt followed her to the car, sitting down in the back. He had to thank her for everything some time. She’d done too much for him. 

“Sorry to interrupt whatever that was,” Barb said from the front seat. “Couldn’t wait til you got back to the hotel, huh?”

Tatiana started laughing. “Apparently not. And you could not wait to ask?”

Barb smiled, sighed, and pulled into the road. “It is sort of my job to stay informed.” 

Curt marveled at how quickly Tatiana could diffuse a situation, and how useless he would have been trying to explain it in her place. He wondered how long he could keep this up with her, letting her drop hints that they were together. It was shitty but it made him feel safe. Again, he really had to thank her. 

“How did it go?” Barb asked, pressing on to avoid any awkwardness. 

“Are you really asking that?” Tatiana looked over at her. “We are two of the world’s greatest spies. What do you think?”

And Curt let the rest of the conversation fade away as he looked out the window and watched the road go by, because everything was reminding him of Owen and all he could feel about it was guilt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love barb... and tatiana.... so much...


	13. eight months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a time skip w/ this one... almost 4 months since the prev. chapter

Time passed. It became routine- get info, figure out a plan, go in, destroy everything, get out, send a report back to Cynthia, head on to the next compound. Curt became more functional on missions as he got used to them again, using a mixture of Tatiana’s and his own methods to shut down his thoughts while he was working. Things weren’t great. He called home whenever he could, and his mother’s worried voice gave him no comfort, instead making him feel bad for taking off on her. He couldn’t get Owen to talk to him, and when he asked his mom always said that Owen was busy, or tired, or in his room. 

Tatiana was a comfort to him, maybe his only comfort. She would always listen when he had to talk, and she’d pick up his slack when he froze in the field. Some nights they would just sit up together and chat about nothing, trying to stave off each other’s nightmares.

He wasn’t getting the satisfaction he used to get from completing assignments. There was a little bit of a rush walking away from a burning compound, but not nearly what he would feel in the fifties. Maybe because he’d let himself get used to something domestic, where thrills came from meaningful conversations and laughter. Maybe because these missions were all the same, over and over and over. The compound might be different on one, or there might be more security, but they were the same and he wouldn’t try to kid himself otherwise. It was only getting duller. 

He started having dreams again. He hadn’t really dreamed consistently since before he first started working for the agency, years ago, so it was a surprise. He’d dream almost every night now, and they weren’t even all nightmares. Some were about travelling, or going out on missions that he’d wake up in the middle of before he could figure out what his objective was. Some were about Tatiana, and Tatiana’s family in a dream version of Russia. Of course a lot of them were about Owen, some of which he’d be embarrassed to think about when he woke up. Some were about his father.

He reasoned that he was having them because his real life was becoming almost predictable. They made him think more than he liked to, about things he was trying not to think about. 

He woke up one morning in his room at a shitty motel in Hungary from a dream almost bad enough to be a nightmare but not quite there yet, and wished he was with Tatiana. As they traveled around, destroying Chimera bases, they developed a sort of system for hotels, and it was that the girls shared a room and he was alone. More often than not, he didn’t want the privacy of sleeping on his own. 

They had destroyed another compound the night before, and they were getting on another flight at noon. It was like clockwork. 

He got up and considered leaving for a cup of coffee. He thought better of it, though, just in case Tatiana or Barb needed him for anything, and he sat back down on his bed. He looked at the phone on the bedside table, and realized he had time to spare, and that he missed Guadeloupe more than anything. He dialed the familiar number and listened to it ring. He hadn’t thought about the difference in time zones. Maybe no one was awake. 

“Hi, you’ve got Maggie Mega. Who is this?”

“Mom, it’s me,” Curt said, leaning back onto his pillows. 

“Oh, Curtis.” She sounded relieved. “It’s late, where are you?”

“Eastern Europe. How are you guys over there?” He hoped that hearing about normal things would make him feel a little better. 

“I’m good, because remember Janis’ blondies? Remember those blondies she used to make?”

Curt could tell his mom was about to go off on a tangent, and it was already making him smile. “Yeah.”

“And I tried to get that recipe out of her for years. Pestered her like a mosquito after a rain every time I saw her, and you know what she did at bingo last week? Do you know?”

“No, Mom.” Curt had a pretty good guess, but he was going to let her tell the story. 

“She gave it to me, typed out on a nice sheet of paper- it was even laminated. And I asked her why she didn’t do that sooner, and god, the reason she held that recipe from me for twenty years was because she hadn’t figured out how to put new ink in her typer. Are you hearing this?”

Curt laughed. “Yeah, I’m hearing it. Are you going to make them?”

She scoffed. “Not me. You won’t catch me dead in the kitchen with Owen around. But you can bet your buttons I’ll have him make them for me.”

“How is he?” Curt asked. One of the things that was stressing him out the most about being away was not knowing if Owen was alright. 

“He’s quiet again.” She sighed. “You’re the only thing we have in common so we run out of things to talk about pretty quickly. Don’t know why he’d be scared to talk about you, but that’s what it seems like.”

Curt tried to picture Owen carefully censoring the memories he was bringing up. “He’s hard to talk to sometimes, but he’s… I think he’s trying. Can you put him on?”

“He’s in his room, he might be sleeping. I could go ask if you want, sweetie.”

“Please do. Thanks.” Curt held the phone to his chest as he waited. He hadn’t heard Owen’s voice in months. If he could just hear his voice, then things would be better. He was anxious to know how he was doing. He put the phone back up to his ear, tapped his fingers on the bed beside him. 

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s feeling up to it tonight, sweetie.” 

Curt bit the inside of his cheek. “Why not, though?”

“He’s tired. He’s been tired a lot lately.” 

It felt so impersonal that Curt didn’t want to push it, nervous that if he did he’d just make himself feel more guilty over leaving. “Um, okay. That’s alright. Will you tell him I miss him?”

“Of course. Is there anything else you want to tell me before I go? I know these missions are top secret, but…” He could picture her shrugging or waving a hand. Top secret never bothered her. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Call more often, alright? I feel like I never hear from you anymore.”

“I mean, I’m always in the middle of something,” Curt said, starting to defend himself before realizing that he’d like to call more often too. “But I’ll try. Goodnight, Mom.”

“Night, sweetie. Sleep well over there.”

“I will.” He looked at the clock, which told him it was almost eight in the morning. He heard her hang up, and then he set the phone back down on its receiver. 

He laid back down, stared up at the ceiling. Soft morning light was peeking through the blinds on the window, and he didn’t want it. He wanted to go back to sleep like it was the start of another night, to not have to worry about missions or his mom or Owen for twelve hours or so. He wanted to be done with these assignments, wanted Chimera to be over with already so he could go home. He wanted a drink. 

He couldn’t win. Cynthia wanted him to work - to work at something that had to be done - and that was really the only way he’d see Tatiana as well. His mom wanted him home, of course, and he’d already caused her enough stress as it was. He was stuck in the middle of this thing where there were pros and cons for each side. He’d never been good at making decisions. There had always been someone who stopped him before he could act on his own ideas, usually Cynthia and sometimes Owen. 

He knew that he was surrounded by problems and he knew he had to fix them but despite it all being so straightforward he just didn’t know what to do. He was drowning in not knowing what to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the late posting of this ! class is starting up again so i should be more regular with updates


	14. eleven months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another sort of timeskip with this one- three months after the last chapter.... also. i'm Sorry for this one.

Missions passed and missions passed and missions passed. It was becoming so routine, so commonplace, that when one day on a flight to the Cayman Islands Curt pulled out the list of compounds and realized that they were on their way to destroy the last one, he didn’t feel anything. Maybe a sort of mild surprise. He nudged Barb, in the seat next to his, pointed to the list. 

She held a hand over her mouth and snatched it from him, double checking it before stuffing it into her bag and throwing an arm around him. She looked like she was going to yell, or start crying, but she didn’t want to wake Tatiana up, who was sitting beside her. “Oh my god,” she finally whispered.

And then it hit him. After this, they were done. After this they could go home. He hugged Barb as best he could without getting up, held onto her as he let himself process it. “This is… I can’t- jesus, this is it,” he said, and his voice broke, and before he could do anything, he was crying. 

“Aw, Curt,” Barb murmured, rubbing his shoulder. “These last few months really have been sort of shitty, I guess. Feels good to be done.” 

“Yeah,” he said. He couldn’t say anything else without embarrassing himself. He wiped his eyes. 

“But hey, at least we spent some time together, right? Who knows when we’ll get assigned to the same thing again,” she pointed out. “Me, you, and Tati… we’re quite a team, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said again. “It’s just- I can’t believe we’re done. I’ve been waiting to be done since…” He thought, cleared his throat, got himself together. “Since we started.” 

Barb let go of him in favor of leaning her head on his shoulder. “Tell Owen I say hi, ‘kay?”

It was so easy for Curt to forget that she knew Owen too, that she worked with them before the accident. “Um, sure. No problem.”

“Is he staying down there?” Barb asked. Her tone was solemn and quiet for the conversational nature of the question.

Curt sighed. It felt like his fault somehow, and it felt like she was blaming him. “Yep.” 

“That just doesn’t seem like Owen. He never stuck around in one place, right?” Barb reminisced. It seemed she was looking back on the fifties fondly, despite how wrong things had gone. Maybe she was trying to cheer him up a little by avoiding the topic of missions. 

That was true. Before the accident Owen went from safehouse to safehouse, from mission to mission, pushing through objectives just to get to the next one. He never lingered anywhere longer than he had to. He moved on quick, for someone so sentimental. 

“It’s nice that he’s settling down,” Barb tried, after waiting for Curt to say something and getting nothing. 

Curt wanted to tell her that yes, it was nice, because he was safe. He wanted to tell her that Owen didn’t really have a choice, at least not until they blew this last compound. “Listen, Barb,” he said, instead of something sensible. “I just- before we’re done here I need to tell you that I loved him, okay?” The words almost caught in his throat but he made himself keep talking. “I still love him. I’m not- I’m-” He shrugged, and clasped his hands together because they were almost shaking. 

Barb nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” she said. Her expression was unreadable. 

He didn’t know why he said anything. In the moment, there had been a pressure to tell her before they were done getting rid of the compounds, and they were just so close, and he thought he had to say it. “I’m sorry-” he started. 

“Don’t.” Barb pushed her glasses up. “Don’t say sorry. That doesn’t make sense.”

Curt tried to decipher what she was thinking. “I just thought you should know, because you’re my friend, and I trust you,” he said, finding himself needing to defend it.

Barb nodded again. “Thanks.” She looked at him for a moment. “Hey, Curt?”

“Yeah?” He didn’t know what to expect. 

“I’m glad he makes you happy.” Barb smiled. She reached down and held his hand. “But we’re gonna change the subject before you start crying again, because if you cry, I’ll cry, and if Tatiana wakes up she’ll worry, and-”

“Okay,” he said, letting himself laugh a little. He squeezed her hand. “So, one to go?”

“One to go,” she agreed. “You can probably expect heavy security because this is literally their last compound left, but no real resistance. The people involved in this are public faces. They can’t risk exposing themselves over this, and none of them want to take the fall for the others. So, just security, not any of the representatives. The compound is on an isolated speck of an island off Cayman Brac, so we’ll get there by boat…” 

Barb laid out the mission parameters for him in a whisper, keeping the information away from the other passengers on the plane, and when they landed, she relayed it all again to Tatiana as well. 

They got to their hotel, just as they always did, and it was just like every other mission. The thing that made this time stand out was the excitement. The air of every room they stood in was packed full of it, it lived in the way Tatiana was tapping her foot on the ground every time she stopped walking, unable to stand still, it lived in Barb checking and double checking their comms and her system, making sure everything was working perfectly, it lived in Curt looking forward to a mission again for the first time in almost a year. They just had this last go, exactly the same as all the ones before it but important because it was the last one. 

After tonight, it was home. 

Curt looked at himself in the mirror of his hotel bathroom after he stepped out of the shower. He wiped the glass free of condensation and tried to see into his own eyes. He told himself that there were mere hours between him and getting on the next flight to Guadeloupe. He told himself that tonight would go off without a hitch, that he’d make Cynthia proud on this one. He told himself that he’d have something to come back to even though he hadn’t spoken to Owen in months. He told himself that he wouldn’t freeze. He wouldn’t freeze. He wouldn’t freeze. 

Night fell, and he found himself standing next to Tatiana in front of a familiar wire fence, just like every other wire fence around every other compound. She had a gun out, and he was holding wire cutters. It was all so rehearsed. 

They went through the gate, the padlock and chain dropping to the ground as they passed. He abandoned the wire cutters for a pistol. Tatiana made signals with her gun, with her hand, her head, even her eyes, and they’d been working together long enough that he knew exactly what she meant. So when she nodded towards the emergency exit - all the compounds had one, usually unguarded - he knew that while she still thought it was the best point of entry, there were men posted there. 

He watched her disappear into the thick undergrowth, and felt a rush of pride for her. Theirs was a story he’d love to tell when he was old. She stole the bomb he was after and kicked him in the nuts. What a damn great way to meet your best friend. He fired once, at nothing, and when two shapes stepped out from the shadow of the building, he fired twice and stepped over the bodies as he joined Tatiana at the door.

Tatiana held her hand to her mouth. “Is there a security system I will have to get past?”

Barb’s voice crackled in over the comm. “Nope. Back door, remember? Just unlock it and it should be smooth sailing. Stay safe, agents.”

Tatiana dropped her hand and pulled a pin from her hair. 

“Don’t bother,” Curt said, just because this was the last compound, and there were no more guards, and he was feeling a little bit like his old self again. He kicked the door in, and could see just enough in the moonlight to tell that she was smiling. 

The scene inside was familiar. Huge room, catwalk stretching around the second floor that looked down on uniform rows of the technology. This time, however, all of their little screens were alight. Things were blinking, different colors popping up and disappearing. The last compound was on alert. It was unsettling, it made the computing consoles seem almost alive. 

“I will watch for you. Get rid of it all,” Tatiana said, and the hate and disgust in her voice was enough to remind him that she wasn’t just doing this for Cynthia, or because she liked to finish what she started. She needed the surveillance network and the information it held gone for the same reason Curt did - it was putting people she loved in danger. 

Curt carefully unplugged some wires, switched them around, stripped back the rubber coating and let the copper ends touch untils sparks started to fly. One console shorted out with a loud pop and a shower of light, and then the one next to it, and then the one next to that. The fire spread down the rows of computers, and began licking at the tables they were mounted on. He turned back to Tatiana, gave her a thumbs up. He hadn’t froze. It was okay. It was just fire. It was just fire. 

He watched the smoke drift up into the rafters of the compound as they began to make their way carefully back to the door. His eyes caught on the catwalk, on the man standing there, on the gun that man was holding. 

“Tatiana, get down!” He gave her a push out of the way, leveled his pistol, and fired. 

There were two gunshots. 

The body fell from the catwalk and into the flames below. 

Tatiana’s hand went up to cover her mouth for a second before gesturing to the flames. “We need to go.” 

Curt realized as he let Tatiana pull him out of the building that he was bleeding. He looked down at it despite trying to stop himself, and saw it soaking through his jacket. He got a little dizzy, a little nauseous, and then the pain hit him. 

They had just passed under the gate when he stopped walking. Everything was spinning, and everything hurt, and he couldn’t move his arm. He’d been shot before, but it had never felt this bad. 

“Get up,” Tatiana commanded, worry biting at her words. 

Curt didn’t remember falling. He couldn’t catch his breath. 

“Get up, it is just a little walk to the boat, and then you will be fine,” Tatiana said, and suddenly she was kneeling next to him. “Just get up.” 

“I can’t feel…” Curt had to stop to take a breath, and he tried to pinpoint what he couldn’t feel. It was too much to think about, there were too many inputs for his brain to handle. He was burning, he just getting seared from the inside out. His shoulder… why did it always have to be his shoulder? It felt too dark for him to be as warm as he was. The sun had to be out, although he couldn’t place where. “Hey,” he tried. “Where are we?”

“Stand up,” Taitana said, her voice choked by tears. 

Getting shot didn’t feel like this. He didn’t know why this time was so different, why it was so red hot, why his back felt so shattered when he was pretty sure the bullet hit his shoulder. He couldn’t get a breath. “I can’t,” he said, trying to find Tatiana’s face and focus on it. 

“Stand up!” she repeated. She screamed it at him that time, and she grabbed a handful of his jacket. 

He looked up at her, and she was alive. She was alive, and she wasn’t hurt, and that meant he’d done his job. He hadn’t frozen. 

“Look, the boat is right there-” She was pointing into the darkness, to a beach he couldn’t see. “Just get up, just get up.” 

He wanted to do what she told him, but when he tried, his mind would get ahead of what his body could do, and nothing would work. 

“Do not do this to me, Curt,” she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. She put an arm around his waist, pulled his arm over her shoulder, and struggled to stand. She pushed on down the little sandy path that led to the beach they’d docked the boat at, dragging him along with her. 

Curt tried to pull his feet through the sand, tried to keep walking, and he wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt water around his ankles. Everything was so dark that he kept trying to look back at the light of the burning compound through the trees just to remind himself that he was conscious. He wasn’t sure if Tatiana had to push him into the boat or if he got in on his own. 

The sensation caused by the waves on the boat made everything feel so untethered, like a dream, but his back hurt enough to ground him. He tried to count the stars in the sky. “Tell my mom I’m sorry, okay?” he murmured, drifting in and out of consciousness. 

“I will tell her you saved my life.” Tatiana’s voice was stone cold, and it was evident she was using one of her methods to stay functional during a crisis. 

“Hey,” he said, because he was going to pass out soon and she had to know, just in case. “I love you.”

Either she didn’t answer, or he didn’t stay awake long enough to hear it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i lowkey forgot it was friday today


	15. hours later

He could see the lights through his eyelids. Bright, fluorescent. When he dared to open his eyes, he was greeted with a clean room. Everything was white. It smelled like antiseptic. 

“Deja vu, right?”

Curt looked up, wincing against the lights. 

Owen was sitting in a chair against the wall opposite the bed. He looked tired but not like he hadn’t been sleeping regularly. Just like he’d had a rough night, or he’d had to do a lot of work. 

So it was a dream. That made sense to Curt. The layout of the room was too similar to the one where they’d sat and talked last year, and he wouldn’t put it past himself to dream that up. Owen was smiling, so definitely a dream. 

“It’s bloody wonderful to see you wake up, I can tell you that,” Owen said, and he was just gazing at Curt with this beautiful smile on. 

This was cruel. His subconscious was messing with him, teasing him with things he’d learned not to expect. “Where are we?” he asked. 

“Cuba. Some little hospital somewhere.” Owen made a little gesture hinting that the location was unimportant. “It was the best place Tatiana could get you to in the time you had.” He got up and sat carefully on the edge of Curt’s bed. “Do you feel alright?”

“Uh…” Curt was scared to touch his shoulder, even though he never felt pain in dreams. He settled for trying to move that arm. “It feels like pins and needles. I think it would probably hurt if I was awake, but I’m fine.” 

Owen laughed and shook his head a little. “You’re really drugged up, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Curt agreed, not knowing if he was even in a hospital. It crossed his mind that he should wake up, but he didn’t want to let go of the dream. He started to sit up. 

“Oh, no, don’t try that,” Owen said quickly. He sounded worried. “This one isn’t as clean as the last one was, I’m afraid. There was a lot of surgery, you need to rest for a while. Take a bit of time to come out of the anesthesia, alright? You’re not asleep.” 

“I’m what?” Curt almost started laughing, because he was mildly aware of his situation as it was, and that threw everything off. There was no way he could be awake. 

“You’re not sleeping, you said something about if you were awake,” Owen murmured. He was still smiling, and the tone of his voice said that he thought this was funny. 

Curt shook his head. “How are you here? If I’m awake, how are you here?”

“I caught a flight, Curt, that’s how everyone gets everywhere.” Owen shrugged. “Tatiana called Margaret when she got to the hospital and we figured there’s no reason not to go.”

“Yeah, there is,” Curt said, feeling jarred and uncomfortable. “It’s not safe for you to travel like that, what the hell were you-”

“Curt. It’s fine. There’s no more Chimera.” Owen touched Curt’s hand. 

Curt had been holding his breath, which he realized only as he let himself exhale. “We did it,” he said, and his own voice sounded strange in his ears. “Oh my god, we did it.” 

Owen nodded. He traced the lines on Curt’s palm for a moment before standing up. “I need to get Margaret and Tatiana.”

“Wait-” Curt said, a little too quickly. “Wait, you can get them in a minute, okay? Just give me a minute.” 

Owen sat back down. 

“Why didn’t you ever talk to me? While I was gone?” Curt felt almost silly asking, but he wanted to know. 

Owen shrugged. “I didn’t want to have to deal with it, I suppose. It would kill me to hear you and not have you with me.”

Curt had to look away from Owen and down at his own hands, because he was feeling too much, and he couldn’t take it. 

“How were your missions?” asked Owen, quick to change the subject. 

“Boring,” Curt replied. “So boring, you have no idea. They were awful.” He laughed, because now, it was funny. Now it was something he could laugh about. He cleared his throat. “Owen, there’s this thing, and it’s been nagging at me ever since I left, and it’s that I never said goodbye. To you.” 

Owen shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. Hell, it didn’t even matter then. You had a flight to catch.” 

“No, it wasn’t-” Curt tried to come up with a way to say it. “It wasn’t a time thing, it was me being a coward, alright? And I want to apologize.” 

“Don’t worry over it. I don’t know how you can remember it, actually,” Owen said. “That was months ago.” 

“Are you not upset about it?”

“No, of course not.” 

Curt nodded. “Okay. Good. I’m still sorry.”

Owen looked like something was hurting him. “You don’t get to be sorry when you’re in a hospital bed,” he whispered. He leaned down and gently put his lips to Curt’s. He kissed Curt slowly, which he never did. 

It was the kind of almost painful that was the best feeling in the world. Curt was somehow still missing Owen despite being with him, being kissed by him, and that made it better. He held onto Owen with the hand he could move. Instead of breathing when they broke apart, he said, “Owen, I love you.” 

Owen closed his eyes for a moment. He almost smiled. Then he stood back up. “Tatiana can’t wait to see you.” He went to the door and disappeared through it for just a moment before coming back. Tatiana, Barb, and Curt’s mom followed him into the room.

Curt’s mom went to Curt’s side immediately, kissed his forehead and his temple and his cheek. “Oh my goodness, is it good to see you. When we got here they didn’t let us see you, and then Owen let me sleep in the waiting room and I didn’t know when you’d wake up or if-” She stopped, kissing his cheek again. 

“I’m okay, Mom,” Curt promised, and he took her hand. “I’m okay, okay?”

She nodded, and tears splashed down her cheeks. “It’s that dumb job of yours, Curtis. It’s that-” She stomped her foot on the ground, sniffling. “-that damn stupid job.”

Tatiana took Curt’s mom by the shoulders and gently led her to the foot of the bed. “Here, Maggie.” 

Curt’s mom sat down, pulled out a handkerchief. 

Tatiana went to Curt’s side. “You saved my life,” she murmured. “You are a stupid son of a bitch for doing that but you- I am so proud of you.” She pressed a kiss to the top of Curt’s head. “I had to dock the boat and call an ambulance and answer all of these questions and the whole time I did not know if you would live or die.”

“I’m fine, though,” he said, willing to try anything to get the worry off of her face. 

Tatiana wiped her eyes. “Listen, Curt. There was- it was a messy wound. There was a lot of nerve damage. You are alive and you still have your arm, but…” She bit her lip. “They do not know how well you will be able to use it.”

Curt let out a slow breath, let his eyes fall closed. He knew there was something different about that wound when he got hit. He counted to five, let himself feel angry and scared and torn up for that long, and then opened his eyes again. He nodded. “Alright.” 

“Do not try to move it now, but in a few days…” She pursed her lips, trying not to cry more.

“We’ll see, right?” he said, and tried to smile for her. 

She nodded, and put a hand on his chest. “Curt, you are a hero. I owe you my life.”

“I owe you mine like three times over,” he replied, brushing it off. He was scared, though. He was terrified. The five second thing hadn’t worked, and he couldn’t decide between trying to move his hand and not wanting to hurt himself. He just sat there in bed, stock still, and tried to keep smiling. 

“I love you,” she whispered. “I think you were out cold when I said it in the boat, so I am saying it again.”

“Love you, too,” he said, under his breath, and he didn’t want to start crying, so he looked down at his blankets. 

“Will you kids give me some time with my baby?” Curt’s mom asked. Her voice was still watery, still so upset. “Please?”

Tatiana nodded sharply, and herded Owen and Barb out of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is not gonna end with angst i promise u guys that


	16. moments later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expect the final chapter monday

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Curt said, the second the door closed. 

She tucked her handkerchief back into her bag, fumbled with clasping it shut, and then looked at it, letting the statement hang in silence for too long. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, trying to get her to look at him. “I’ll be more careful next time I’m on a mission, I promise. I’ll pay attention better, I’ll keep my guard up, I’ll…” He ran out of things to say quickly, and the hospital room was crushingly quiet. “Mom?”

She cleared her throat, started picking at the fibers of her dress. “Owen told me about you. About you two.” Her voice was hushed but still trying to be conversational. 

Curt felt his throat start to close up. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” 

“Can you tell me?”

“But you-”

“I just have to hear it from you.” She was still looking down at her dress, pretending there was something absorbing about it. 

“Mom, please,” he said, and he couldn’t get his voice to go louder than a whisper. There wasn’t a way out of this but he just wished it had happened under different circumstances. When he was at home, instead of in the hospital. When he could move properly. He felt like he had no control over the situation. 

“Can you just tell me, Curtis?” She sounded almost hysterical. 

“I did have a thing with Owen.” He was barely able to force himself to talk. “And I- I’d rather be with a man than with a woman.” He couldn’t look up at her. 

After a long silence, she sighed. “And here I am going on about a wedding,” she muttered. She rubbed her face with a hand, and then got up and sat right next to him on the bed. She touched his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “If you’d told me sooner I wouldn’t have- you let me talk about- I feel like a horrible mother.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Curt said quietly. He let her play with his hair like she used to when he was little. 

“What did I do to make you trust me that little, sweetie?” she asked. She sounded heartbroken. “Why did you think you couldn’t tell me?”

“I was going to, alright? Other things just kept coming up, though, and…” He didn’t really have an excuse. 

She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “Right.” She tried to get into his line of vision. “Curtis, I’m sorry I tried to get you to… I don’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t know better.”

“Mom, it’s fine,” he said. He held her hand. 

She nodded again, and it looked like she was going to start crying. 

“Oh- Mom, don’t- it’s not a big deal,” Curt said quickly, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“I just love you so much,” she said, pulling out her handkerchief again and covering her face with it. 

They sat in near silence as time passed, Curt rubbing her shoulder and feeling exhausted with relief. 

Eventually, she wiped her eyes on her handkerchief one last time and put it away, breathing out a sigh. “Owen’s a good guy,” she said softly, her voice daring to take on its regular tone again. “He’s- he’ll treat you right.” She nodded to herself. 

That made Curt happy. It was such a sweet sentiment, so kind of her to say, and it sounded so ordinary coming from her that he felt almost normal about it. “When did he tell you?” he asked, because he couldn’t imagine what would push Owen to say that. 

“On the flight over,” she answered, her hand straying back to his hair, smoothing it down. “It was a rough night for us, sweetie. He kept talking about you, and I didn’t have the heart to stop him. Hearing it took my mind off what Tati told us, and I think it was the only way he could process it.”

Curt tried to picture it. He felt guilty. “I’m sorry again, I didn’t think you guys would have to worry about this.”

“It’s not your fault someone shot you, Curtis, don’t be stupid,” she said. “And it’s my duty as your mother to worry about you. But when will you realize that job isn’t good for you?”

“Do we have to talk about this now?” he asked, and whatever drug he was on was starting to wear off, because his shoulder hurt. 

“It’s not going to wait until the next time you get shot,” she pointed out firmly. “Why don’t you settle down? You make more than enough money to quit and get a nice place somewhere. Do you like getting hurt?”

“No.” He looked away from her. 

“Do you like getting yelled at by that boss of yours?”

“No.” 

“Think about it, alright?” She kissed his forehead. “Thank you for being honest with me today, hon. That stuff isn’t easy to say. I’m going to talk to your doctor and let you get some rest.”

He nodded, and closed his eyes as she shut the door behind her. He let his mind drift away from the pain in his shoulder. He felt good about almost everything for the first time he could remember. He didn’t have to lie to his mom anymore. That settled him, made him feel comfortable and safe. But he had a lot to think over, and a lot to figure out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a little. oof. but yeah


	17. one year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feels only right on the last chapter to link to the song the title was taken from- it's sort of a great song for this fic  
> [one more time with feeling -regina spektor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOkMqYpJdtM)

Tatiana and Barb had left to make a report to the agency, and he had gone back home with Owen and his mom. His bandages were uncomfortable and his arm lost circulation sometimes but he was feeling better than he had felt in a long time. 

He’d been given a warning when he left the hospital not to put too much pressure on his shoulder, and the knowledge that the damage done was permanent, and any effects it had would also be permanent. 

He couldn’t hold his hand still anymore. Even when he was focusing on it, there was a tremor that would run through it. Nerve damage would do that, he figured, but it shut off the possibility of going back into the field. He was realizing, bit by bit, that he didn’t mind. That, if anything, it was good. It made the decision he’d been scared to for him. And it dawned on him with each passing day that he’d be happier out of the field than he was in it. 

Now he had time to do all these things he’d deemed too casual before. He could go for a walk whenever he wanted to. He could sleep in. He could spend hours suffering through a cooking lesson with Owen. He’d even picked up some books and was trying to learn Russian, to surprise Tatiana the next time she stopped by. 

He brought one of those books over to the couch and sat next to Owen, who was paging through a real estate magazine. “That looks boring,” he muttered. 

Owen leaned over and kissed his shoulder. “It’ll keep looking boring until you buy me a proper house.” He had been talking about moving out ever since he heard that Curt wasn’t going back to work for the agency. He held out the magazine. “Look at this one.” 

“They’re never as good as they look in the pictures. You know that, right?” Curt looked down at it and smiled. It just looked like a house, just like any old house, and that made it all the sweeter that Owen was interested in it. 

“Let me enjoy it,” Owen replied, pulling the magazine away from Curt and continuing to read it. 

“You can buy your own house if you want one,” Curt said, flipping to the back of his book to get the definition of a new word. They often talked like this now, just casual, offhand speech that was so foreign to them just months ago but was slowly becoming the norm. He could never stop smiling during those talks, and he couldn’t now either. 

“Oh, right,” Owen said, making a circle and some notes on his magazine. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I was thinking, when I move out, you could move out with me. And then move in with me, when I find a place.”

Curt looked up from his book, felt his chest tighten. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but nothing was coming out. 

“Thoughts on that, love? Good? Bad?” Owen set his magazine down on the coffee table. 

“Good,” Curt managed. “Really good.”

Owen nodded, smiled a little smile with half his mouth, like he did. “I was just thinking about the shit we’ve been through together, and how you never… hm.” He took Curt’s hand in his own, seemed to organize his thoughts. “You never gave up on me. So I thought, after all the wild, unbelievable, great things we’ve done, the greatest thing we can do now is settle down.” He shrugged. 

“I like the sound of that,” Curt said, his voice quiet.

“And I do want to thank you,” continued Owen, leaning against Curt’s good shoulder, “for making me walk out on Chimera, and for forcing me to stay alive. I didn’t think I could do either of those then, but now I don’t- I’m just happy I’m here. I’m happy I’m not dead.” He laughed under his breath. “Thanks for sticking with me.” 

“I lost you once,” Curt said, putting an arm around Owen. “Never again, alright?”

“Alright.” Owen chuckled. “Is that a yes on-”

“Yeah, I’ll buy us a house,” promised Curt. “A nice one, with, like, a garden. Do you want a garden?”

“I love you,” murmured Owen, picking up the magazine and his pen again and settling back against Curt. 

“What?” Curt looked over at him. 

Owen met his eyes, and shrugged. “I think I told you that I wasn’t in love before you left, and I guess that was bullshit.” He tapped his pen on Curt’s knee. “Curt, you saved my life again and again, and I treated you like shit and you still cared about me. I couldn’t even talk to you for a while there but you- you kept trying. And you’re… you. How could I not love you?”

“I love you too,” Curt said quietly. He felt so settled, the anxiety and worries that usually bothered him gone. He was content. He was complete. 

After a few moments of silence, Owen said, “I do want a garden.” He smiled. He made some more notes on his magazine.

Curt laughed. He tried to understand the verb listings in his book. 

The rest of the afternoon passed similarly, and so did many other afternoons. They eventually found a house they both liked, after a lot of arguing and a bit of compromising. Tatiana did stop by every few months, as often as she could, and regaled them with her stories from the field. There was even the occasional call from Cynthia, just to check in. It seemed her feelings had softened towards them both over time. They tried to visit Maggie consistently, and let her fawn over them when they did.

Curt struggled with using his hand, but it felt inconsequential. He’d get frustrated for a few minutes and then remember that he could afford to take time with things now, and it wouldn’t matter anymore. Everything slowed down, but that wasn’t bad. It just made all the handicaps that were the symptoms of spy work seem feasible to live with. He settled into this new routine and learned how to live again, this time without danger all around him or a gun at his side. He spent his time being in love. 

Not everything was perfect all the time. Sometimes Curt would still get stuck in his memories, and sometimes Owen would flinch at the closing of a door. It wasn’t uncommon for them to wake up from nightmares and not be able to get back to sleep. They taught themselves how to work around each other’s triggers and weak spots. 

But time went on. Time always goes on, and as it did things hurt less and less. They stopped dwelling on old memories and started making new ones. Curt met Tatiana’s family. Owen got his garden. They kept loving each other. The life they had fell into step with the life they’d always wanted, and they were happy. They were happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to those of you who stuck with this story the whole time, thanks! and to those who are future readers, thanks as well  
> <3


End file.
